What Blooms In the Dark
by EvilAngel310
Summary: There's darkness locked in every bud, and shadows bloom freely amidst despair. But sometimes, even creatures born in blackness learn to reach for the light of the sun; just as those conceived in brightness may cocoon themselves in ashes. Souls tangle like desperate weeds - they will grow into a garden or a stranglehold. M for abuse, rape, and dark/suicidal themes. [Eventual Zutara]
1. Chapter 1: Silence In Shadows

Chapter 1: Silence In Shadows

* * *

Zuko was dozing; trapped somewhere in between the world of the living and that of dreams. His lips were slightly parted, his head pillowed in his arm; but the tension of the day hadn't quite drained out of his tense little frame. Someone placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking him ever-so-gently. He responded immediately, eyes parting drowsily and a confused sigh escaping him.

"Mom?"

Ursa pulled him upright, clutched his thin shoulders. "Zuko. Please, my love; listen to me." His head drooped, but he forced himself to look back up at her. Even through the haze of sleep he could sense her urgency, knew that something was very, very wrong. "Everything I've done, I've done to protect you." She pulled him into her arms, held him tightly. Closing his eyes, Zuko pillowed his head against her shoulder.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. He felt her turn, glancing worriedly over her shoulder. She grasped his arms again, reluctantly peeling away from her son. "Remember this, Zuko." He lifted his head, stared wide-eyed at his mother. Worry and fear were etched onto her delicate features. "No matter how things may seem to change, never forget who you are."

She released him, gently, as he nodded, tired and confused.

"Mom?"

She paused, reached out and stroked his jaw, a terrible sadness in her eyes. "I love you, Zuko. Never forget."

Ursa slid her wedding ring; a silver circlet set with three clear stones, from her left hand. Taking his, she pressed the still - warm band into his palm, closing his fingers around it and pressing tight, as if she could imprint herself on him, as though she could somehow leave a piece of herself there with him. As she turned away, she gave him a reassuring smile. It was the saddest smile he'd ever seen.

And then she was walking away; and the last thing that Zuko remembered was watching her lift a hood over her face, her form fading from view as his eyes drifted shut.

* * *

The darkness was her ally, cloaking her hooded form in shadow as she slipped through the empty corridors she'd unwillingly called home for the last ten years of her life. Night cast a spell on the palace, every painting and hallway she ghosted past coming alive with memories. How ironic, that these walls painted with the gaudy opulence she'd despised since she'd first laid eyes on them, now each held a piece of the past she was abandoning.

Ten years ago, she would have been glad. Wouldn't have hesitated for a moment. Even now, despite everything, a part of her was, at least a little. She'd never wanted this existence, and the bitter joy of freedom ate at her guilt.

Ten years ago, she didn't have children.

An eerie calm settled over her as she found her from one child's room to the other, silencing, but not steadying, that roiling pit of fear in her belly. She'd done everything in her power to shelter her son from the harsh realities of his existence, from his father's dismissal and the general scorn that everyone seemed to see him with. Zuko was _her _child, there was no question, was everything that a young boy should be, everything a mother could hope for in a son. But qualities generally considered normal in common children; compassion, empathy, short-temper and rashness, were viewed as undesirable and an embarrassment to the royal family; to Ozai especially. And despite Ursa's best attempts to stop him, Ozai had always made sure to leave the evidence of his displeasure imprinted in black and blue on Zuko's little body.

Her lip curled with anger at that, hatred for her husband rushing through her.

_Husband, no longer._

After this night, she would be princess of this palace no more.

Guilty relief, at that. The proof was carefully tucked in her bodice, and in the band of metal that had chained her - to Ozai, to this place - that she'd left pressed in her bewildered son's sleepy fingers. She had neither need nor desire to keep it. Only the hope that for him, it would be a gift, rather than a shackle, had kept her from pitching it into the flames. He deserved some keepsake. Come morning, his precious heart would be broken, and nothing she did or said could change it. If only she had more to give.

With every moment, the wild desire to snatch her babies up and carry them away with her into the night gnawed at her, but for their sakes, she could not, and it was that knowledge that kept her from acting on her impulse. She would never escape with both, not alive. Ozai would hunt them all to the ends of the earth, before he allowed her to abscond with his heirs. She might, just _might_, get away with one . . . but which? How could she abandon one for the other? And worse, which would need her more?

Zuko. Zuko was her love, her light. The one ray of light in the hopeless situation she'd been forced into. A boy after her own heart. And despite everything Ozai had put him through, he had kept that brightness alive. Very few things came to him naturally; for everything that was expected of him as the firstborn son of Prince Ozai, a child of the Royal family and a runner - up for the succession of the throne, he had struggled desperately to attain any sort of grasp on the subject. He was an average firebender; had yet to show any signs of the power his ancestry should have granted him. Military tactics and political nuances were all but lost on him. In essence, Zuko was in every way a very normal child. But instead of allowing normalcy to define him, he still fought to become _more_. He _was_ strong, in his own way, no matter what poison his rat-viper of a father spat. But Azula . . .

Ozai had set his hand on her almost as soon as she was born. Had swept her away from her dolls and playmates to the training grounds, shaping her to be a warrior, instead of a girl. If he could not have a worthy heir in Zuko, he'd said, he would _make_ one of Azula. Her daughter, despite her youth, despite her quirks, and despite her sometimes downright sadistic behavior, was absolutely brilliant, talented, and beautiful. Gifted. She would change the world, someday. But her father's influence was already obvious. And Ozai was not raising her to be an upstanding woman.

No. He would make her his minion, his accomplice, his tool. And maybe someday, he would let her succeed him. But he would shred any humanity and decency she possessed to achieve his ends, and break her heart without a moment's hesitation. And she'd never once question whether he had the right to do it. Because Azula loved Ozai, damn him to the bowels of the earth. If her father commanded it, then it must be right.

It was Azula who she ought to spirit away. But of the two, it was Azula who would be hunted more determinedly. And she'd never quite been able to find a way to connect with her daughter, and if Azula hesitated at all, if she looked back even once, it would be the end of both of them.

Not to mention, Ozai would be sure to exact vengeance on whichever of her children she left behind. Could she sacrifice Zuko in the hopes of giving Azula a brighter future? Or Azula, for Zuko's heart?

_No. I can't_

_Save all, and I will save none. Save one, and I damn the other. Save none, and I abandon them all._

She couldn't choose, and it broke her heart.

Ursa swept silently through Azula's door, pausing for a moment to admire the eight-year-old's already graceful form one last time, as the princess lay dreaming, oblivious to the nightmare become reality. She seated herself on the side of the bed, brushing aside glossy black locks to place a kiss on her brow, to embrace the little girl who didn't know she needed it. A slow tear trickled down her cheek, as she suddenly realized she'd never see the woman her baby would become. Never walk her down the aisle or pass down her crown when she came of age. Never meet her grandchildren.

_My darling._

_I wish you knew how much I love you. I should have tried harder to show you. To understand you. And I will regret it to my last breath._

Gently, she laid her head back on the pillow. Slowly unpinning the crown from her hair, she tucked the golden piece in Azula's slackened fingers.

"Goodnight, love," she whispered, standing. "Goodbye."

And Ursa vanished into the night.

* * *

He woke slowly, the hazy feeling he always got whenever he woke up slowly retreating to the corners of his mind. He lay still, letting the feeling seep back into his limbs. Slowly, pieces of what had taken place that night began to come back to him. His father had asked Fire Lord Azulon to disinherit Uncle Iroh! And Azula seemed to think that Father was going to punish _him_ for it. She'd come into his room, taunting him; which explained why he'd gone to sleep in his clothes. Suddenly, he saw his mother's slim figure retreating into the darkness.

_That was a weird dream_, he thought, distantly. A long moment later, he felt the tiny prick of some tiny object clenched in his fist. Uncurling his fingers, the glimmer of polished silver shone in the faint light.

He sat up instantly. "Mom?" he called, confusion in his voice. No one answered; he was alone in his room. "Mom!" he cried, urgently. He threw his covers aside; jumped off the bed and ran for the door. _"Mom!"_

Zuko tore down the hallway; he couldn't see anything except her face, couldn't feel anything but the tiny band of metal clutched in his desperate fist. He ran into the chambers where, just yesterday, Ursa had read Iroh's letter to him and Azula. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He stopped, glancing around. Azula leaned against one of the columns. "Where's Mom?"

"No one knows." She looked away, a superior tone in her voice. "Oh, and last night, Grandpa passed away." Azula met his gaze, a smug smile on her face. She held his knife like a trophy.

"Not funny, Azula." He leveled a finger at her. "You're sick. And I want my knife back." Zuko walked towards her demandingly. "Now."

He reached for his blade, only to have Azula duck away, shoving him against the column. "Who's going to make me?" she asked, in a triumphant, sing-song voice, holding the knife out by her fingertips. "Mom?"

Zuko froze, horror creeping over him. _No._ She couldn't be.

He grabbed the knife from her outstretched fingertips, and ran away. Forget Azula and her mind games. He had to know.

His father stood by the pond; staring out over the water. Zuko could not recall ever having seen his father here before. He stopped short, fists clenched. "Where is she?" he demanded.

Ozai said nothing; didn't even glance at him.

Zuko bowed his head, grief and shock pulsing through him.

_Gone._

He didn't remember walking away. Couldn't recall how he'd made his way back to his room; or what he'd done afterwards.

_How long has it been? _

He didn't know.

It seemed to Zuko as though he'd been walking around in a daze since he'd woken, not really registering anything. The servants pushed him where he needed to be, changed him into the clothes for his grandfather's funeral and his father's coronation. He didn't have to think, to speak. He wasn't sure he could have.

"...Fire Lord to our nation for 23 years. You were our fearless leader in the battle of Garsai; our matchless conqueror of the Hu Xin provinces. You were father of Iroh, father of Ozai. Husband of Illah, now passed. Grandfather of Lu Ten, now passed. Grandfather of Zuko and Azula."

Zuko started at his name, then lowered his head in respect, before his surroundings hit him.

The Fire Lord was dead! Grandfather Azulon, lying prone atop his casket, when just yesterday he'd been seated proudly on the throne of the Fire Nation.

_Where is Uncle Iroh?_ he thought, worry niggling at him. _They can't crown the new Fire Lord if he isn't here, can they?_

The head Sage approached the casket, the royal crown held in his upraised hands. "We lay you to rest, as was your dying wish." Two of the lower sages, dressed in white, set the body aflame, and Zuko blinked, confused, as his father knelt before the Sage, head bowed. "You are now succeeded by your second son."

_What?_

The Fire Sage placed the crown in Ozai's topknot. Stepping away respectfully, he cried "Hail Fire Lord Ozai!"

Zuko blinked in shock.

Ozai stood; all of his subjects knelt before him, faces to the ground. Seeing Azula also move, Zuko followed her lead, crouching on his knees beside her. He glanced at his sister, worried and confused; but the look on her face was one of triumph. Zuko looked away, unable to hide the fear and confusion swimming in his wide eyes.

Something had changed, something had been lost, and he didn't understand how or why, as the answering roar of the kneeling crowd echoed hollowly in his ears, but somehow he knew deep in his bones that the future had just grown immeasurably colder.

* * *

Updated: 08/13/15

Reread these chapters and realized they were crap. So sorry. Am working on trying to fix them up.

~Evil


	2. Chapter 2: Hollow

Chapter 2: Hollow

* * *

_Gone._

_Gone gone gone._

He was so, so empty inside. Like his inner fire had been blown out, and he'd been left to wash away with the tide. All the colors had grown cold and lifeless, days passing without incident or memory. Blinking slowly, Zuko forced his eyes to focus, slowly growing aware of his surroundings. The dark canopy of his bed solidified above him.

He had no idea how long he'd been lying here. Or since he'd moved. Numbly, Zuko twitched his fingers, the slow prickle of blood starting to flow through his limbs again niggling at his nerves. That cold band of metal lying against his skin, still fastened around his neck with one of her hair ribbons, a constant reminder she was _gone_.

Gone and not coming back, and still he couldn't bear to take it off.

Why was he moving around anyway? There wasn't any point, she was _gone_ and there was no more light and even the sun couldn't warm his frozen insides.

His left hand drifted to the band of silver, clutching desperately at that last piece of sanity. The most beautiful, and most horrible gift he'd ever received. His last piece of _Mother._

A low keen made its way from his throat, and then there was something wet on his face and someone was sobbing, and it took him far too long to realize that it was _him._

_Why why why?_

Emotion flooded through him like a flash flood, crashing through all that cold emptiness, and he could feel little pieces of himself washing away, and he just wanted it all to _stop._

An eternity later, it did, and that awful nothingness slowly returned.

_Can't think can't breathe can't feel._

There was a low knock; somewhere in the back of his mind he registered one of the servants entering with an armful of his clothes, pulling him to his feet and dressing him.

He couldn't find the will to move, or stop her, so he let her maneuver his body into his clothes.

"Fire Lord Ozai has ordered your presence at dinner this evening, my prince."

_Father._

He'd barely seen him since the coronation, only glimpses and snatches as he wandered the castle in his mindless daze. To be honest, he had no idea what day it was or how long it had been since that night.

A strange thrumming of hurt and anger flitted along with the image of his father.

_He didn't tell me I _know_ he knows where did she go?_

Slowly, Zuko looked down at his body, his pale, unmarred skin a stark contrast to the heavy darkness of his room.

_The bruises are gone._

He _always_ had bruises. He couldn't ever keep from angering Father. _Where were the bruises? _

Gone.

Nervously, he probed his legs and torso, searching for that telltale ache.

Nothing.

_Why?_

And why did their absence make him so panicky?

"What is today?" His voice was raspy, as though he hadn't spoken in an age. Maybe he hadn't.

"The sixteenth of May, your highness."

A month.

_It's been a whole month._

Standing on shaky legs, he allowed her to lead him towards the banquet hall. Father never required his presence unless there was some sort of political function.

The murkiness of confusion and apprehension clouded his mind, and he walked forward numbly, eyes wandering but seeing nothing.

* * *

_A whole year. _

Bitterness throbbed in his chest, that slow boiling rage that had slowly kindled in the pit of his stomach over the last twelve months. One year, since Lu Ten died, since Grandfather died, since _Mother-_

Fists clenched, he bit down on the fury, forcing all that hate out through his fists as he threw himself into yet another drill. If it took him a hundred years, he would become a master. He _wouldn't_ fail Father.

_Not like I failed Mom._

His hands shook, and his flames flared higher, surprising his tutor, who looked pleased at the increased power, but displeased with the loss of control. Fire was precise and deadly. Not sloppy and wild. Not like Zuko.

A low growl filled his lungs as he forced his hands to steady.

_My fault all my fault wasn't good enough wasn't strong enough couldn't stay why why why_

And his teacher kicked his feet out from under him. His back slammed against the ground and a scream of fury erupted from his lungs.

"Again."

His eyes narrowed. If that sour old gasbag thought he couldn't hear the disdain in his voice, he was dead wrong. His fingers itched and he longed to just rush him and scream and punch and _burn_ the condescension off the weasel-rat's face.

But instead he pushed himself to his feet, swallowed a ragged breath, and -

_Father._

The Fire Lord's lip curled in obvious disgust at Zuko's performance, watching silently from across the training grounds. Watching, but not approaching. The only time they spent in each other's company was at meals, where any attempted conversation was met with stony silence or a harsh rebuke. So why was he here now? Ozai _knew_ his tutors' schedules.

_He came . . . to see me?_

_And I disappointed him._

Burning with shame, he swallowed the fear that always lumped in his throat whenever his father appeared, straightened, and focused.

That slight push of energy, and flames sprung to life in his palms, and Zuko twisted, determined. _Have to get this right. Have to show him I'm good enough - _

His feet were kicked out from under him again.

The side of his head met smoothly paved stone, and blinding white lights danced across his eyes.

His vision cleared to see that scowl - the one that said _worthless failure -_ deepen, and the Fire Lord swept away without a word.

If Zuko had had a heart left to break, he was sure it would have shattered.

* * *

The next day, Ozai was back. Silently observing. Never speaking. Leaving once Zuko had humiliated himself enough.

And the next.

And the next.

At first, Zuko was terrified at the audience. His father had never found anything but fault in his performance; and when he found fault, Zuko would usually wake up covered in bruises, but ever since he'd begun spectating, his father hadn't said a word about it. Granted, that meant that he never said anything ever, but that was his own fault. Father wouldn't ignore him if he didn't keep proving every moment there was nothing_ to_ ignore.

He failed and failed and failed again, but still his father came back every day. He was _present._ That was more than Zuko deserved. And it might have been a cold, unwelcoming presence, but it was enough to make him hope. And that hope made him struggle ever harder.

Struggle. Fail. Again and again. Every day.

As the time dragged by, he found himself so desperate for some sort of contact that he would have gladly taken the beatings over the emptiness and silence. But the Fire Lord said nothing.

But he still kept watching.

_Maybe . . . maybe he wants to believe I could be great._

He wanted to believe it. So, so badly.

_ After all_, he reasoned, _I am heir to the throne now. It only makes sense that he would want his eventual successor to be worthy of the throne._

He clung to that desperate, logic-defying sentiment like a drowning man.

* * *

"Gah!"

Zuko kicked the frame of his bed, wincing as pain shot up his leg. _Azula!_

She'd stolen his homework _again._

Without anyone to keep her in check, Azula tormented him constantly; sneaking into his room, stealing his belongings, and making full use of every opportunity to lord her superiority over him.

Damnit, he _needed _those.

_Where's Uncle when you need him?_

He swallowed that thought. Uncle still hadn't returned after the failed siege of Ba Sing Se. He hadn't seen the old man in well over three years, since before the beginning of the Six Hundred Day Siege. No one knew where the old man had gone; the last news they'd had was something about a spiritual quest.

_Where did you go? Why does everyone go? _

He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat, and marched down the hall to his sister's bedroom.

* * *

Six months, and he couldn't find _any_ of his socks. And it was time for his bending practice.

Father continued to watch from the shadows, but it seemed to Zuko that his frowns weren't as deep as they were before. Things were better than they had been, sure, and he could almost pretend to be happy. Almost. All that strange rage and hate and bitterness still raged just beneath his skin. There were long gaps of nothing in his memory and he tried never to think of _her_ or anything that'd happened the night before his father's coronation.

Still. Things were better. He could _almost_ pretend.

But then everything went downhill when the news that General Iroh was finally returning from his long self - imposed exile reached the Palace.

* * *

"Took him long enough," Azula sniffed as the messenger retreated. "He probably got lost on a detour looking for some Earth Kingdom tea refinery."

Zuko slammed his cup down on the dinner table, clenching his fists. "You don't know anything about it."

Ozai's frown deepened.

"Neither do you, _Zuzu,_" Azula returned, lifting an egg roll with her chopsticks and inspecting it critically before taking a dainty bite. "Everyone knows Uncle's just a delusional old man."

"_Delusional_?" Zuko cried, half - standing in indignation. "His son _died!_ But you wouldn't understand that, would you?" Rage boiled through his veins, and words came tumbling from his lips. "You're not human enough to feel anything for anyone besides yourself, let alone to grieve. If anyone's delusional, it's _you_!"

In a blink of an eye, Ozai was standing over him, yanking him out of his chair. Zuko paled, stumbling as the back of his father's hand connected with his face. "You," hissed Ozai, lifting him into the air by the front of his tunic, and pressing him against the wall, "have no place to correct her. Princess Azula is a prodigy; everything you could never hope to be. She was born lucky."

He leaned close, so close Zuko trembled in fear. His voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "_You_ were _lucky_ to be born."

As suddenly as he had grabbed him, Ozai released his son. Zuko collapsed to the floor, white and trembling in shock. He pressed a shaking hand to his cheek, his jaw working silently. Azula's face mirrored his own; even her hands were unsteady.

Recovering swiftly; she lay her silverware primly down, covering the nervousness in her eyes with a triumphant smile directed at her older brother.

The Fire Lord walked away without another glance.

* * *

Not deigning to bother with the tediousness of greeting a brother for whom he'd never held any sort of affection, Ozai left Zuko and Azula to deal with the incoming ship. They stood side - by - side at the dock, dressed in full armour. Neither of them spoke.

Zuko tugged at the end of his sleeve; stretching the fabric over the faint bruise on his wrist. He didn't tell her how he'd gotten it. She didn't ask. She didn't need to. She was Azula; she knew everything. There wasn't anything either of them could have done about it anyway.

She hadn't said anything then either, when she'd taken his wrists and pulled him to his feet, leading him to her rooms. Had pushed him down onto the bed and pressed ice against the swelling on his cheek without so much as a murmur. Only smirked a little as she applied the concealer, hiding the dark purple blotch with her makeup after the swelling had gone down. Had taken him back to his room and locked the door behind her as she left without even giving him her usual, unsettling _"Goodnight, Zuko."_

In the week since his outburst at the table, the bruise on his cheek had faded; only to be replaced with many darker ones. Zuko was only grateful that at least he could cover these ones without the assistance of various unmanly substances. Ozai had apparently overcome whatever conflict he'd had about domestic violence since Ursa's demise; he hit harder than ever. Or perhaps Zuko had merely forgotten just how bad it had been in the first place. The strangest thing of all was Azula. She always picked him up, after their father had gone. Always led him away quietly and played doctor, bandaging up the worst of him. She'd been less of a pain lately, too. If it was anyone other than his sister, he would have said it was because she actually did care about him. But this was Azula. He honestly had no idea why she was looking after him now.

Azula tsked irritably, tapping her foot. She was always so impatient; always indignant at having to wait on someone else's pleasure. Zuko ignored her, squinting at the horizon. If he looked very, very closely, he thought he could make out a tiny little smudge . . .

"There," he cried. "the ship's there."

His sister tossed her head, picked at her nails. "Well, it's about time."

Zuko rolled his eyes. _Some things never change._

* * *

They knelt in unison as the deck lowered, one knee bent, heads inclined respectfully. The ship's crew filed out, forming two columns, between which General Iroh descended.

"Greetings, Prince Zuko and Princess Azula." Their uncle said, extending his hands. They rose, Zuko stepping forward to meet his embrace, while Azula stood back, looking peevish. _Don't touch me_, her entire stance screamed.

Azula wasn't fond of Uncle, or of hugs.

Iroh lay his hands on Zuko's shoulders, ignoring his niece's slight. "Look how you've grown!"

Zuko tried to smile; but he knew from his uncle's expression that the old man had seen past it. Straightening, he released his nephew. "We should go inside. I've been dying for a good cup of ginseng tea."

Iroh took him firmly by the arm, wrapping his other around Azula as he walked by. She stiffened, obviously unhappy, but didn't fight him as Uncle led them towards the Palace.

After all, it wouldn't do to show dysfunction - let alone weakness - before their subjects.

* * *

Zuko remembered the first time his father had seriously injured him. He'd been six. His mother had been away, making her annual appearance in the wounded clinics.

_"It's important," she'd told him, "that the people see that we care about our soldiers. That the Royal Family suffers just as much as everyone else does in this war. That we suffer for them. Another reason,"_ she continued, _"is so that I can see the condition of the hospitals, and make a report to give to the Fire Lord. After all that our men do for us, it's our duty to see that they are properly cared for."_ She'd ruffled his hair, kissed his forehead.

_"Can't I come with you, Mom?"_ he'd pleaded, unhappy with the idea of such a long separation. "I can help care for them!"

She'd laughed. _"I'm sorry, love."_ Her expression darkened with sorrow. _"But there are some things that you're just not ready to see."_

He'd been confused, hadn't understood. But he'd nodded anyway, knew better than to question her when she had that look on her face. So she went away for two months, visiting every hospital within the Fire Nation's borders.

The night after she left, Zuko woke up with a nightmare. Shaking and white, he ran to his mother's room, panicking and terrified. He threw the door open, only to find his father looking up at him furiously. There were several already opened letters thrown onto the bed, and Ozai held another open in his hand.

_"Father?"_ he'd gasped. _"I - where's-"_ he cut off, taking in the scene before him.

Ozai growled, tossing the letter aside. Zuko backed away, paling further, but his father was faster. He slapped him across the face, the impact sending him sprawling. Zuko cried out in shock, and Ozai kicked him in the stomach. Zuko felt something snap inside him.

_"You stay out of my business, understand?"_ he'd whispered, grabbing his son's skinny little bicep and lifting him up. Gasping in pain, Zuko managed a frightened nod. He whimpered and kicked, trying to break out of the bigger man's hold while clutching his free arm to his side. The pain was unbearable.

The elder prince scowled. Wrenching his wrist, he threw Zuko across the room. Zuko gasped as he collided with the wall, his vision going red as he lay stunned, twitching in pain.

His father was long gone by the time he regained his senses, the first glimmers of the morning light peeking through the curtains.

Zuko moaned, trying to sit up. A sharp twinge of pain in his ribs elicited another involuntary cry, he gasped and coughed, pressing his shaky hands against his sides. The coppery tang of blood filled his mouth, his stomach heaved.

He vaguely recalled crying for help, could remember hands lifting him up off the floor, the faces nothing more than a blur. And then he remembered the while walls and sterile scent of the royal physician's quarters.

* * *

He was lying face up on the bed, white sheets draped over his body like he was a corpse. Slowly, he sat up, wincing at the pain in his torso. The doctor looked up from his chair in the corner, and quickly got up, coming over to his bedside.

_"Easy, now. Don't want to risk making that any worse."_

The doctor was a sharp - looking man, well into his forties. His black hair was streaked with grey, the lines in his face grim and set; but despite his stern appearance and sometimes gruff tone, he was generally a very kind, understanding man. Zuko looked up at him, exhaustion plain on his little face.

The doctor gave him a grim smile and peeled the sheet back, exposing his bare chest. Zuko shivered at the sudden rush of cool air. He looked down at his body, stared in silence at the large, foot - shaped bruise that began underneath his tiny nipples and extended down his abdomen.

_"You've got three cracked ribs, some heavy bruising on your stomach, shoulders, and the back of your head; and you've had a nasty concussion; but it seems like you'll recover quickly."_ The doctor sat on the edge of the bed, looking him in the eyes. _"You want to tell me how you got them?"_

Zuko swallowed, grimacing at how dry his mouth was. He looked down at himself again, nervous. The doctor sighed, laying a hand on his skinny shoulder. _"It's okay. You can tell me."_

_"I had a bad dream. I was looking for my mom,"_ he said, biting his lip. _"And I ran into Father, he was looking at some letters, and he was angry . . ."_ Trailing off, he looked at the old man searchingly.

_"Ah."_ The doctor frowned, fixing his gaze on his withering old hands. _"Well, then."_

_"What do I do?"_ Zuko whispered. _"What did I do?"_

_"Nothing,"_ he replied. _"There's nothing either of us can do."_ The doctor took his little fingers in his own, squeezing them comfortingly. _"If it were anyone else, if you were anyone else, I would report him to the authorities for child abuse. I've seen the marks on you more than enough times to account for it; but Prince Ozai is just that: a prince. The public wouldn't stand for it, the Fire Lord wouldn't stand for it. It'd be my word against his. Your father's crafty enough to come up with a plausible excuse for all the bruises."_

Zuko's brow furrowed. _"But it's not just your word. You'd have me, too."_

The doctor laughed, a mirthless expression. _"Prince Zuko, I hate to break it to you, but that's not how things work around here. Everyone with any connection to the Palace knows that your father doesn't care for you. Any advantage that might have given us is lost with the fact that everyone doesn't like you."_

_"Why?"_ Zuko cried, grabbing his arm. _"Why does everyone hate me?"_

_"Because, well . . . "_ the doctor trailed off, at a loss. _"It begins with the nobility, I guess. They all have this superiority complex; think they have some divine right to their status because the spirits made them better, more powerful, than normal people. And you," he continued, "are just . . . normal. There's nothing inherently special about you. You're not a great firebender or a political genius. You're just you. And that rubs them the wrong way. And because the nobility are the ones passing information along to the people, that prejudice gets handed down the ladder; and that's why the majority of the people have very negative opinions of you."_

_"That's not fair,"_ the prince protested. _"I'm only six."_

_"Life isn't fair, your highness."_

_"They don't even know me."_

He sighed._ "Look, that's beside the point. The fact of the matter is, if Ozai denied the charges; then with no other witnesses - and maybe not even then - people will automatically assume that you're just being the spoiled brat everyone thinks you are, looking for attention."_ He held up his hands as Zuko's lips parted in protest. _"And while you know, and I know, that that's not true; if nobody believes us, it'll just make things even worse for both of us. Your father would destroy me, and hurt you -"_ he glanced at his patient , _"- well, more - if we dared to meddle in his affairs, let alone drag him into a disgraceful court scandal. I'm sorry; but there's nothing anyone can do for you."_

They sat in silence for awhile, Zuko looking downcast, the doctor shaking his head regretfully. The old man ruffled Zuko's dark hair. _"Listen, your highness-"_

_"It's Zuko,"_ Zuko said, tiredly.

_"- Zuko, I know this is a lot to ask of anyone, especially someone as young as you; but you can't ever tell anyone about what your father does to you."_

He looked up, worriedly._ "Not even my mom?"_

_"I don't know how much you'd be able to keep from her. She looks after you like a buzzard - hawk after its chicks."_ He sighed. _"At the very least, I wouldn't tell her about your little visit here. If she finds out on her own, that's all well and good, nothing to be done. But the last thing you need is for Prince Ozai to suspect that you're telling tales."_

_"Why can't I tell anyone?"_

The doctor sighed, squeezing his hand again. _"Listen; there are some things that you just can't understand at your age, no matter how hard you try. There's a lot of politics involved; for example, if perhaps one of your father's political enemies - and he has a number if them - found out, they might try to use that knowledge as a weapon against him. And if he figured that out, again, his most likely course of action is to take it out on you. Maybe even to take you out of the equation. Prince Ozai has a reputable temper; and some very harsh notions about justice. You're a sweet kid, Zuko. I don't want to have to live to see your name on a gravestone."_

Zuko stared at him, white as a sheet. After a long moment, he nodded dejectedly.

_"I'm sorry, kid. But it's your best option. Your father's usually smart enough to to limit himself to hurting you in ways that other people can't see; so just do whatever you have to do to cover up those bruises and hope for the best. Trust me; at this point the worst thing that could happen is for this to become public knowledge."_

Zuko jerked his head unhappily. The doctor rubbed a hand in his hair again, giving him a sad little smile. _"Good kid."_ Standing, he pressed a sweet into the prince's hand. _"Get better quick. The sooner you're out of here, the better off you'll be."_

_"Thank you,"_ Zuko whispered.

_"Don't mention it."_ The doctor smiled, walking towards the exit. _"After all, it is my job to make you feel better."_

* * *

The doctor's words echoed in Zuko's mind as Iroh caught his arm at the entrance to the dining room. _You can't ever tell anyone about what your father does to you._ He looked at Iroh inquisitively, even though he already knew what his uncle was about to ask.

"Zuko. Are you . . . alright?" Zuko could hear the underlying worry in his voice.

"What do you mean? Of course I'm fine," he heard himself say. Felt himself smile reassuringly. Knew he looked strained.

The General studied him carefully for a long moment; then released him. They stepped into the dining room; Zuko silently wishing Uncle would have pressed him about it. Wishing he didn't have to lie.

_You can't ever tell anyone about what your father does to you._

Steeling himself, he took his seat across from Azula as Fire Lord Ozai entered the room.

The meal passed mostly in silence; Iroh's quiet questions about his niece and nephew's well - being and the general state of affairs being met with concise, pointed answers. Zuko kept his mouth shut, pushing his food around his plate, his gaze fastened to the table in front of him. Internally, he begged for the awkward gathering to be dismissed without incident; he doubted his father would make a scene in front of Iroh, but he was not going to find out if he could help it.

Finally, Azula stood. "Excuse me, Father, but I believe it's past time for me to retire."

Relief flooded him. He quickly shoved his chair back, bowing to his father and uncle. "Good night."

Zuko fled the room on Azula's heels.

* * *

It had been many years since Iroh had last seen his nephew, but he couldn't help but notice how skittish and reluctant the prince had become; always hiding in the shadows and nearly jumping out of his skin whenever anyone approached him. The concern the General had felt when he'd first arrived grew steadily more and more with every encounter he had with his nephew. The boy obviously wouldn't be made to talk about it; always averted his eyes and insisted that everything was fine whenever Iroh even brushed the subject. Prince Zuko was a terrible liar. Iroh could see in his nephew's wide golden eyes that something was very, very wrong. And he knew that he couldn't help him, so long as he refused to help himself.

_He's obviously afraid of something, or someone. But who, and why? Who could possibly touch him?_ Iroh paused, realization hitting him. _Unless Ozai is somehow involved._

Iroh hadn't missed the fact that Zuko had never once spoken or looked at his father during the one meal they'd shared. He'd practically run from the room.

The old man sighed, shaking his head. Empty speculation wouldn't help either of them. Until Zuko opened up to him, Iroh's best course of action was to let the matter rest. He didn't want to risk making the situation any worse than it already was.

Looking around, Iroh swallowed the lump that rose in his throat as the memories stirred in his chest, the painful ache of separation driving his nephew's troubles from his mind. When he closed his eyes he could just see them, his wife and son, walking down these very corridors. Living in these very rooms.

Iroh lowered his lids, letting the ghosts come to life one more time.

* * *

**Updated 08/20/15**


	3. Chapter 3: Thirteen

Chapter 2: Thirteen

* * *

Distracted though he might have been with his own grief, Iroh did make a point of being there for Zuko as much as he could. He began overseeing his firebending instruction, peeking in on his lessons. Slowly, Zuko began to brighten, but Iroh suspected that he hadn't really overcome that terrified skittishness, had merely learned to stifle his instinctive reactions.

Yet, as time dragged by, Iroh had yet to see anything besides the haunted despair in his nephew's eyes to suggest that there was anything underhanded going on. And though he knew it was very possible that Ozai had merely mastered the art of keeping things quiet, Iroh allowed himself to believe that he had been mistaken, that Zuko was just still reeling from the loss of his mother.

* * *

Summer turned to fall, and with it came the celebration of the Crown Prince's thirteenth birthday; an auspicious event for any boy. At sixteen, he would reach marrying age, and be released from the authority of his parents, but at thirteen he was considered - in certain respects - a man.

Normally, the coming - of - age of a Crown Prince would be a huge affair, with lots of grandstanding, the parents of the child making a big show for the public. But seeing Ozai's continued apathy towards his son, and the general disdain in which the public held their future ruler, Iroh opted to ask Zuko what he would prefer to do.

* * *

"So . . . you're saying I can do anything I want? Anything at all?"

"Certainly!" Iroh said, clapping his nephew on the shoulder and beaming at him. "It's past time you had a treat."

Zuko frowned, looking down. After a long moment, he looked up at Iroh. "I want," he said slowly, unsure, "to visit the hospitals."

Iroh froze. "What?"

"Like my mom used to."

The general's bright smile faltered, staring at his nephew in shock. "Prince Zuko, I don't know if you're ready for anything like that . . ."

Zuko set his jaw. "I'm supposed to be a man now. It's my duty to look after my people, and since she-" he broke off, squeezing his eyes shut. "I want to see them. It's our duty to show our people that we care about our people, and our privilege to make sure that our soldiers are taken care of; and the last time I checked, no one has been making the reports to the Fire Lord about the condition of our wounded clinics."

Sucking in a breath of air, Uncle Iroh squeezed his shoulder again. "Yes, that's true, but . . ."

"You said I could do anything I wanted," the prince reminded him petulantly.

"Yes, I did," he conceded, reluctantly.

Zuko's pale gold eyes opened wide. "You're really going to let me?"

Iroh let out another deep sigh. "I gave you my word. But, Prince Zuko, I beg you to reconsider. There are things that no young man should have to see."

The prince didn't seem to have heard. He gave his uncle a quick hug.

"Will you at least allow me to accompany you on your inspection?" Iroh compromised quickly.

"Of course! Thank you, Uncle!"

Zuko took off down the hallway, locked himself in his bedroom. Buzzing with excitement, he wracked his closet, pulling together several outfits to pack up. He wasn't exactly sure why he was so thrilled with the idea of visiting a bunch of invalids, but he knew it felt right. He was doing something good, something helpful. Something that made him feel close to her.

Choking on the sudden surge of emotion, Zuko sat down on the closet floor with a thump, clutching the ring strung around his neck and struggling with the tears threatening to overwhelm him. He cursed himself silently.

He had these emotional meltdowns fairly regularly; over anything from something as little as a sweet his mother had loved to the dark bruises hidden beneath his clothes. Zuko hated it, hated himself, hated feeling so weak.

Sobbing softly, he lifted his head, wiped his eyes with his sleeve. _Stupid_, he thought bitterly to himself. _No wonder everyone hates me. I'm just a big cry - baby._

The prince picked himself up off the floor and morosely continued packing.

* * *

A week later, and the day had come. Zuko woke early to Azula, flanked by Mai and Ty Lei, tromping into his bedroom and shouting "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DUM - DUM!" He groaned and pulled a pillow over his head, silently cursing whoever had taught her how to pick locks; but at the same time filled with sheer gratitude that he'd gone to sleep in his clothes. His face burned at the very idea of the girly trio walking in on him in any state of undress.

Azula plopped down on the sheets beside him, poking him hard in the stomach. "Get up, Zuzu. Father wants to see you."

Zuko paled, sitting bolt upright. " . . . why?" he asked cautiously, suddenly terrified. Since Uncle's arrival, Ozai had kept his . . . interactions with Zuko behind closed doors, usually late at night. He hadn't seen him otherwise.

"Hmm," Azula said, tapping her chin in mock - thoughtfulness, "maybe because the Crown Prince becomes a man today?"

"Yeah," Ty Lei interjected. "Why wouldn't your dad want to see you?"

Dead silence. Ty Lei's bright smile faltered as she took in everyone's pointed stares.

"Um, . . . okay?"

Mai rolled her eyes, leaning gloomily against the bedpost. Azula stood, yanking the blankets off her brother as she did. "Whatever the reason, I would hurry if I were you. You know how Father feels about being kept waiting."

With her pointed remark, she turned and exited the room, her friends following closely.

"Happy Birthday Zuko!" Ty Lei shouted as Mai swung the door shut.

He bounded out of bed, re - locking the door and stripping as fast as he could. Pulling on the outfit his uncle had laid out for him yesterday, he hurriedly jammed himself into it, pausing only briefly to straighten his ponytail. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and tore down the hall, nearly bowling over a serving girl in the hall.

"Sorry," he cried.

"Prince Zuko," she said, catching his arm. "Your father is in the garden."

Zuko looked up at her, confused, for a moment, then nodded. "Thanks."

As he tore down the hall, questions filled his mind. _Why would Father be in Mother's garden? He never goes there. _He ran outside, spotting the imposing silhouette of the Fire Lord standing in the covered walkway.

The prince dashed up behind his father, bowing so deeply his face was practically touching the ground. "You summoned me, Father?"

The Fire Lord turned, acknowledging his son's presence. Zuko fought the urge to cower.

"So I did. Rise."

He stood, clenching his hands so they wouldn't shake.

Ozai inspected him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he turned back to the garden, leaving Zuko trembling in relief. "I understand you have undertaken to make the Royal inspections," he said.

Zuko nodded. "Yes, Father."

Ozai nodded to himself. Zuko stood, hands clasped tightly behind his back, waiting for the verdict. After what seemed like hours, Ozai glanced at him. "You may go."

Nodding again, uncertain, Zuko bowed once more; and left as fast as he could without his father thinking he was running away. _Even though technically, that's what I'm doing._

Cursing the shame and self - loathing that rose in his chest, he returned to his room, only to find that someone had already collected his belongings. Sighing, Zuko took off, looking for his uncle. But he couldn't help but wonder just what had prompted his father to summon and promptly dismiss him. It was unusual, to say the least.

* * *

They began at the hospital on the outskirts of the city. Over the course of the next two weeks, the plan was for them to visit all of the major clinics in the Fire Nation. His mother had always visited all of them, always spent the same amount of time looking after the smallest hospital as she did the largest.

"It's only fair," she'd said. "The people in the less extravagant clinics are just as important as the people in the big ones."

But Iroh had done everything he could to keep the trip as brief as possible. Zuko had conceded that perhaps he did need to learn the ropes before he tried to tackle the whole nation.

Leaping out of the palanquin, he and his uncle stepped into the hospital. There was a flurry of excitement as they entered, men and women dressed in sterile white scurrying out of their path and watching intently as the Crown Prince and the Dragon of the West walked through their workplace.

"Excuse me," Iroh said, catching one of the workers, a pretty middle - aged doctor, and addressing her respectfully. "Could you escort us to the Hospital Director's office?"

"Oh!" she cried, nearly dropping her armful of papers. "Oh, yes, certainly . . ."

Bowing, she led the way. As they followed her up a flight of stairs and into the Administrator's office, Iroh took Zuko by the arm, pulling him close so he could whisper in his ear. "Prince Zuko, I know I said-"

"I'll be fine, Uncle," Zuko whispered back, ignoring the growing sensation of dread that was slowly building up in his stomach. . _There are some things that you're just not ready to see._

_What is so terrible about these places that everyone is trying to keep me away from them?_

They entered the office, Zuko's heart beginning to pound in spite of his efforts to remain calm. _Stop it. You're supposed to be a man; so man up already._

Iroh was speaking to the medical director. Zuko snapped back to attention as the woman stood.

"If you'll follow me," she said, leading them forward and opening the door for her royal guests, "we'll begin with the supply closets, moving up to the staff offices, then to the patient's rooms, and finally the operating chambers." She grimaced at the last bit, giving the prince an apologetic smile. He felt his stomach lurch. _Operating chambers?_ He wanted to throttle the woman, demand what was really going on.

A lone servant accompanied the three of them as they ventured into the storage rooms, silently recording the amounts and estimates their guide gave them in answer to Iroh's pointed questions. How much they had to keep stocked of each item, to hire decent doctors, provide food for the patients. How the funds from the crown were divided. How much they charged the patients to make up for the overflow of expense, and to acquire the latest technology in medicine.

"What sort of technology?" Zuko found himself asking, for lack of a better question. He needed to stay involved, but really was quite clueless about medical procedures.

"Oh, there's all sorts of little wonders being invented these days," the director said, waving them along. "Machines that can take pictures of the inside of a body just by scanning them, less invasive and more precise tools, more effective medicines." The woman gave him another shallow smile. "It's really a wonder, modern science. Makes you half - believe those nuts babbling about how it's only a few more years till we have ships that fly."

Rolling his eyes, Zuko tuned her out. They wandered through the rest of the storage space and through the physician's offices before he remembered that he was supposed to be paying attention.

* * *

Zuko stepped into the patient's wing. Froze in shock. A servant standing to the side suddenly announced: "All hail Crown Prince Zuko and General Iroh!"

There was instant silence, every person freezing and every face turning towards them. Some delighted, some sad, some hate - filled.

Every face that could, that was.

Zuko swallowed, white with horror at the gruesome spectacle before him. Men lay slouched in cots lined against the wall, some missing extremities or even entire limbs. All of them were mutilated in some form or other; disfigured, scarred and bloodied.

The room spun slightly. Forcing himself to focus, he nearly jumped when Iroh gripped his hand. "I'm sorry," the old man whispered, his old eyes suddenly seeming their years, "I tried to warn you."

_There are some things that you're just not ready to see._

He understood.

Zuko shook himself. _I have a duty to these men_. Stepping up to the nearest bed, he cleared his throat.

The man inclined his head slightly and closed his one remaining eye. "Your highness."

Bowing stiffly, Zuko addressed him. "On behalf of my father, Fire Lord Ozai, I thank you for your sacrifice." He stepped closer, uncertain. "Is there . . . anything I can do for you?"

The soldier cracked his eyes open, shook his head. A wry expression twisted his mouth as he muttered, "No, boy. Even the mighty Fire Lord can't turn back time."

Swallowing, Zuko nodded tightly. _Sometimes, some things are just too broken to be fixed._

"You've got guts coming here," he continued in an undertone. "More than people seem to give you credit for, at least. But still; a number of people will not be . . . pleased by your presence here. Quite upset, if you understand me."

The prince frowned sadly, downcast. "I know."

"These men have suffered much; and believe it or not, they're the lucky ones. They came back alive. Trust me, Prince Zuko," the soldier said, leaning forward intently, "the best thing you could do for these people is put an end to this Spirit - forsaken war before it destroys us all."

A nurse rushed forward. pressing her patient back down into his pillow. Zuko bowed again, moved along; his youthful face grim.

_How am _I _supposed to do that?_

He inhaled sharply, biting back the nausea that rose as he approached the next bed, where a man lay half - paralyzed, his back broken.

"On behalf of my father, Fire Lord Ozai, I thank you for your sacrifice . . ."

* * *

Zuko picked at his dinner, pushing the food around his plate. He couldn't bring himself to eat. Noting his uncle, who was watching him with concern, the prince looked up at him.

"I hate onions."

It was true, but they both knew it wasn't the reason he refused to so much as taste his food.

Iroh nodded, letting it slide.

_There are some things that you're just not ready to see._

He knew now what she meant. After they'd seen the infamous 'operating chambers' . . . no matter what he did, he couldn't put the images from his mind: the dead and dying and broken and lame. Doctors cutting away dead limbs and peeling back flesh and muscle, exposing beating hearts and fractured bones to the stifled light. Zuko felt sick, as though he'd suddenly for the first time realized that the war was real, it was happening every moment, and every moment it continued, it continued to blind and twist and cripple. When Lu Ten had died, he hadn't really understood. Didn't know what a horror death on the battlefield could be. He'd always thought that it was honorable, to perish in combat. But he hadn't realized how gruesome the idea really was.

Suddenly, he could see his cousin's face on every one of those soldier's broken bodies. Zuko's fists clenched, fighting tears that stung his eyes._ . I hope he didn't suffer._

Excusing himself, Zuko went to his room, curled up in the blankets. He didn't sleep that night.

* * *

Two weeks and fourteen hospitals later, Zuko returned to the Royal Palace. He was thinner and grimmer than he'd been when he'd left, as though he'd aged a decade in the time he'd been gone. His nightmares were worse now, insomnia ruling where exhaustion could not overwhelm.

Iroh sighed as he watched his nephew train, hurling all of his pent - up emotion at the dummies set out for him to practice with. Stepping forward, Iroh intervened. "No, your stance is wrong. Straighten your spine. Hold your arms like this."

Zuko let Iroh guide him into a proper stance. As he corrected the boy's form, Iroh caught a glimpse of his face. His brows were knitted, jaw set, and his eyes were so . . . hopeless.

"Come now, nephew," Iroh said, quickly, trying to make him brighten up. "You'll get it right soon enough. You should have seen the mistakes your father made at your age!" Cringing internally, Iroh stuttered. _Shouldn't have mentioned Ozai._

Sighing, the General took the drooping boy by the shoulders, turned him so that they were face - to - face. After a long moment, Zuko's pale gold eyes flickered up to meet his uncle's.

"Zuko," Iroh said softly, "it's okay to be upset."

He shuddered in response, eyes darting with a trapped, panicked look.

"It's okay to cry."

With a half - cry, of misery or pain - it wasn't clear which - Zuko tore himself away. "No," he whispered. "No it's not. Nothing is okay. Nothing can ever be okay again."

The prince darted away, leaving a stumped Uncle blinking in shock at an empty arena.

Zuko slammed his door shut, breathing heavily. Slowly, miserably, he pressed his back against the wood and sank down to the floor, wrapping his thin arms around his knees. . _It's not okay._

_I should have listened._

His uncle had just been trying to protect him, to spare him the cold, hard reality of war and death. But seeing those men . . . he understood them. He might not be physically broken like they were, but he knew how they must feel. Wounds that can never be healed. Tortures that can never be forgotten.

A cry wrenched free from his lips. His head was spinning and he hurt, he could feel the pain of those men throbbing through his body as if it were his own. Shaking and shuddering, he suddenly felt trapped. He would always be here, would spend the rest of his life in this empty palace haunted by the ghosts of his dead family; tormented and beaten every day by a father who had always and would always despise him. Alone and unwanted. Forever.

He cried out again, this time more agonized, clutched his aching head in his hands. His breath came in ragged gasps._ . I just want it to end. To be all over._

And before he knew what he was doing, his fingers curled around the blade he always carried with him, then slipped from his fingertips, blood gushing from his wrists. The inscription gleamed up at him from the floor, _Never give up without a fight,_ and suddenly he was terrified, and then the world went black and all he could see was blessed darkness.

* * *

The blackness retreated slowly, his eyes flickering open to stark white. Slowly, the blur retreated and he could see the room clearly. He was lying in the hospital wing, in the very same bed as he had seven years ago. Dizzily, he lifted his head, saw the thick white bandages encompassing his wrists, the needle buried deep in his arm just above the gauze. Blearily, his eyes followed the thin cord, filled with red, protruding from his skin. It led up, above his head, to a bag filled with deep red fluid. . . _Blood._

_You can't ever tell anyone about what your father does to you._

The doctor's voice echoed in his mind, the memory as clear as it had been the day the man had said the words.

_But this time . . . I did it to me._

Suddenly, he was very afraid. _What have I done? What will I tell Uncle? Azula? Father?_ They would be so angry. Father would beat him senseless. Azula would sniff and turn away, perhaps give a last piercing jab before leaving and refusing to speak to him for several weeks at least. And Uncle Iroh would look at him with that face, sad and disappointed. Zuko cowered under the sheets. . _Why did I survive?_

Something touched his hand, and he realized that his uncle had been sitting beside him, sleeping, the whole time. Zuko started, surprised. Iroh stirred at the sudden movement, was sitting up, looking over his nephew with concern and worry and grief in his eyes. Guilt raged through Zuko, and he looked away, unable to meet his uncle's gaze.

Iroh took his nephew's pale, cold fingers in his own, rubbing his weathered hands against the skin of Zuko's, warming them up, before gently releasing him.

"Nephew," Iroh said, softly, his voice breaking with sorrow. "Why?"

Zuko didn't answer. Didn't know the answer.

Closing his eyes, he lay his head back on the pillow; heard his own words echo in his head.

_Nothing can ever be okay again._

* * *

After a few months, Zuko slowly began to recover; some of the life returning to his eyes. Iroh worked hard to keep Zuko's visit a guarded secret, and had him transferred back to his own rooms as soon as he possibly could. It helped that the prince developed a serious cough during his short stay, and Iroh attributed his mysterious disappearance to his simply having been confined to his chambers because of his illness.

But Zuko still felt so horrible. Ever since he'd finally recognized the desperate reality of his situation, he'd been agonized, by the suffering of his soldiers, his own sorrows . . . still desperately wished for a definitive ending, the knowledge that he wouldn't have to bear it forever. The things he had seen; they nagged at him, haunted him.

But he was still only thirteen, and he couldn't give up. Couldn't believe he had tried.

So when Zuko learned that his father was having an important war meeting, he decided to go. _It's time to move on_, the voice in the back of his mind whispered._ Make it up to Uncle. Live the life you were given._

_It's what she would have wanted._

* * *

Zuko struggled into his armor, marched down the hall, determined. He was nervous, and excited, but he kept his expression calm, neutral. Following his father's generals to the throne room, the guards suddenly stopped him at the curtain, blocking the entrance.

"Let me in!"

"Prince Zuko," said his uncle's voice, the old man striding up behind him and pulling him slightly to the side. "What's wrong?"

"I want to go into the war chamber, but the guard won't let me pass!"

Iroh took him arm, pulling him in the opposite direction. "You are not missing anything," Iroh told his nephew consolingly. "Trust me. These meetings are dreadfully boring."

Zuko stopped, looked down. "If I am going to rule this nation one day, don't you think I need to start learning as much as I can?"

Iroh gave him a calculating look. Zuko knew what he was thinking, knew he would humor him just to keep that fervor in his nephew's eyes alive. "Very well. But you must promise not to speak." Glancing over his shoulder at the passing generals and advisers, he continued. "These old folks are a bit sensitive, you know?"

Zuko bowed gratefully. "Thank you, Uncle!"

Iroh put an arm around his shoulders and guided his nephew through the curtains. Zuko resisted the urge to make a face at the guards as he passed.

Inside, the wall of flames separating the Fire Lord from his attendants blazed brightly, casting an eerie, yellow glow over everything. There was a map laid out on the floor, around which sat all of the generals, advisers and ministers summoned for the meeting.

Zuko took a deep breath, sitting down beside his uncle, and folded his hands in his lap as the meeting began.

* * *

"The Earth Kingdom defenses are concentrated here," General Bujing said, pointing out the location on the map. "A dangerous battalion of their strongest earthbenders and fiercest warriors." He pushed a Fire Nation unit towards the location with his pointer. "So I am recommending the Forty - First division."

"But the Forty - First is entirely new recruits," objected another, elder officer. "How do you expect them to defeat a powerful Earth Kingdom battalion?"

Zuko paled visibly.

"I don't," Bujing replied, a dark, sadistic edge in his voice. "They'll be used as a distraction while we mount an attack from the rear. What better to use as bait than fresh meat?"

Memories surged through the crown prince's mind, men lying in rows on the floor, broken and dying. The stench of blood and sweat and decay hanging in the air. In an instant, he was on his feet. "You can't sacrifice an entire division like that! Those soldiers love and defend our nation! How can you betray them?"

He was met with utter silence. Every eye was on him, staring disapprovingly. Too late, he remembered his uncle's demand that he hold his tongue. Zuko faltered for a moment, unsure, but the memory of the wounded caused his blood to boil again, a low rage burning in his veins. So much suffering and pain._How dare you_, he thought angrily, staring down the council members. _How dare you waste their lives, how dare you send them on a suicide mission, when you know there's no chance they'll survive?!_

The crackle of flames intensified behind him, and realization, combined with a rush of dread, blossomed suddenly in the pit of his stomach. He turned, slowly, looking up at his father's obscured figure.

* * *

"Prince Zuko; your challenge of General Bujing is an act of complete disrespect!"

Zuko winced, curling his hands into fists so they wouldn't shake.

"There is only one way to resolve this matter," the Fire Lord continued, cold fury evident in his voice.

The dread intensified.

"Agni Kai!"

Zuko bit his tongue, panicking. He turned his gaze back to Bujing, masking his fear behind his contempt. Letting the words fall from his lips.

"I am not afraid."

It was a lie. The biggest lie he'd ever told. But he had to be strong, had to prove to his father that he wasn't weak. Had to convince him that he wasn't a failure.

If his father wanted him to duel the general, then Zuko would do it.

* * *

Zuko knelt in the arena, wearing only the traditional pants and scarf - like cloth draped over his back. Biting back the bile that rose in his throat at his nerves, he rose and faced his opponent. Lifted his arms warily - and dropped them as he took in the form standing at the other side of the arena. Not Bujing, but Fire Lord Ozai himself.

_No_, he thought, panicking,_ this can't be happening. I can't fight_ Father.

Ozai began to walk forward.

Suddenly desperate, Zuko threw himself down on his hands and knees, kneeling in subservience. "Please, Father," he cried, " I only had the Fire Nation's best interests at heart! I'm sorry I spoke out of turn!" He bowed his head, trying to quell the fear that raged through him

"You will fight for your honor," Ozai hissed, not even pausing in his advance.

He pushed himself down even lower. "I meant you no disrespect! I am your loyal son."

"Rise and_ fight_, Prince Zuko," his father called, taunting.

_I can't. I won't._ Zuko knew he couldn't do it. Knew he would lose anyway. Knew what the consequences would be. He steeled himself, bowing his head down as far as he could.

"I won't fight you."

"You will learn respect," Ozai hissed. Zuko found himself pushing himself up on his hands, tears streaming down his face as he looked up, terrified, at his sire. "And suffering will be your teacher."

And then there was a burst of light, and unimaginable pain. Zuko screamed in agony, crying out and clutching his face as he collapsed, the world blurring and then going black, leaving him with nothing but the utter misery now burned across his face.

* * *

**Hi! I keep forgetting to add these authors notes before I post...**

**What do you guys think? Love? Hate? Ideas? I'd love to hear them! (well, not so much of the hate, but . . . you guys know what I mean)**

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**UPDATE: Thanks to alyssialui for pointing out that bit about the knife . . . and to akiranko, lawliness, and CherishRedemption for the reviews! Keep 'em coming, guys!**


	4. Chapter 4: Banished

White. He was surrounded by white. Everything was blurry and confusing, as though his mind could no longer make sense of what his eyes took in. Or rather, his eye. Something dark and heavy lay over the left side of his head, wrapped around his skull.

Zuko twitched. Tried to lift his head. The room spun and he cried out in pain as his grimace stretched the damaged skin under the bandage.

_What happened?_

Slowly, feeling was returning to his limbs, his skin tingling and his nerves on edge. Vision slowly returning, he lifted a feeble hand and pressed it over his obscured eye.

Zuko screamed. The skin below the gauze burned at the slight pressure; hurt like nothing he'd ever felt. Jumbled memories flashed through his mind.

_Father._

_Agni Kai._

_Suffering will be your teacher._

Truly shaking now, he grabbed at a mirror on the bedside table. A ghostly white boy stared back at him, his one eye wide. His thick, black hair shaved back into a small ponytail. Half his head covered in bandages. Bandages stained with pus and blood.

He screamed even louder, dropping the mirror and clawing at the bandage. "My face!"

Panic overcame him. His vision began to blur again and he lost control, terror and pain overcoming what little sense he had. He felt someone grab his arm, hold him still while he thrashed and screamed, pushing a needle deep into his vein. As the drug spread through his blood, quickly taking hold, a blurry outline appeared above him, forcing him down onto his back as he dimly realized his senses were fading.

* * *

The next time he awoke, his hands and feet were firmly restrained to the bed. He felt hot and achy all over and his face hurt so much! A low moan slipped through his cracked lips, his mouth extremely dry.

He could hear someone speaking, but couldn't make sense of the words. His head ached and his face burned and he desperately wanted water, but couldn't find the strength to force any sound out of his throat.

Something touched him; cool, smooth skin stroking his hot, feverish forehead. A tiny whimper escaped him, as he jerked his head, tugged at his bonds.

"No, Prince Zuko, you must lay still!"

Zuko stiffened for a moment as his mind slowly processed the words, taking much longer than it should have to grasp the meaning behind them. Unable to identify the speaker, he jerked again, a low, pained groan ecaping his lips. Still unable to speak, he forced his dry tongue out of him mouth, licked his parched lips.

A moment later, someone's hand lifted his head up, pressing something cool and smooth against the edge of his mouth. Glass. A cup. He cracked his good eye open, allowed the blurry figure to help him drink. Gulping greedily, the prince sighed when the cup was drained, relaxing slightly as his head was lowered down to the pillow. Zuko's eyes drifted slowly shut again, letting himself drift away.

* * *

The prince continued to drift in and out of consciousness over the following week, never staying awake long enough to fully grasp his situation. Iroh stayed by his side, only leaving him for a few minutes at a time. The medical team kept him mostly sedated, so that when he did regain sentience, the drugs always inhibited him from recognizing or holding a lucid conversation with anyone; but whenever they lowered the dosage enough for him to rationalize, he would go into a state of panic every time he awoke, screaming and trying to wrench his thin wrists free of their bindings to claw the injured side of his face off. But Iroh knew - they all knew - that sooner or later, the prince would awaken for good and they would all have to watch him face the consequences of his actions.

Stroking the feverish skin of his sleeping nephew's hand, Iroh glanced unwillingly at the scroll tossed on the bedside table; the edges crinkled and worn from being gripped too tightly. Studied too intently. And yet, each perusal had only made him understand just how much Ozai hated his pathetic son.

Why else would he have done this? What else could explain his brother's actions? A Fire Duel - with a child! It was unheard of, and everyone knew, Ozai knew, that Zuko could never have hoped to defend himself against a master such as his father. Yet the Fire Lord still found fault.

_But banishment?_

Iroh's mind still reeled from the contents of the decree. Ozai might as well have signed his son's death sentence. Because the chances of Zuko ever returning home now rested on something as attainable as a fairytale. And he was being sent into enemy territory: should he be caught, he would almost certainly be executed.

It seemed the Fire Lord had finally found his chance to disinherit his elder child. In favor of Azula. Iroh bowed his head, in sorrow for his nephew's pain, and dread at the thought of the malevolent, conniving, sadistic princess sitting on the throne with a crown on her head.

Zuko's fingers twitched.

Iroh sat bolt upright; studying the prince's face intently. A slight grimace crossed the pale, drawn features, as he shifted back and forth, waking up his body bit by bit. From his darkening expression, the General knew that the doctor must have forgotten to give him his latest dose of sedative. After a quick debate, Iroh decided to allow his nephew to awaken. The sooner they could have this conversation, the better. He was not fond of the idea of Zuko not regaining consciousness until he was on a ship bound for the Earth Kingdom, with no idea why and no way to go back.

The lashes fluttered, the grimace quickly turning into a mask of pain, as the boy's good eye flickered open. His gold eyes seemed hazy at first, but they sharpened quickly as he focused on the man sitting before him.

"Prince Zuko," whispered his uncle softly, "can you hear me?"

After a long moment, the prince gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

"You've been through much, these last few days. They've had to keep you asleep while you healed, so that you wouldn't accidently hurt yourself by thrashing around. But there is good news. The doctor says that at this point it does not seem like your vision will suffer much, once you finally remove the bandage."

"Bandage?" the dry whisper came. Iroh tensed as he felt Zuko's pulse quickening. "My vision? What?" He made to lift his hands, found them restrained. "Uncle?"

Wincing at the pain and panic in his voice, Iroh grasped his hand, squeezing the now - shaking digits comfortingly in his palm. "You had to be restrained, to keep you from . . . hurting yourself."

"Uncle." There was an urgency in his voice, his head lifted and he stared intently with his good eye, demanding answers. "What happened?"

* * *

_"BANISHED?" _

The former crown prince's voice was so high, Iroh briefly thought that it might have been able to shatter glass. Zuko clutched the missive his father had published in a shaking hand, the general having freed him from his restraints. He was now beginning to doubt the wisdom of that action.

"Prince Zuko, you must calm down. You are still weak, and you need more time -"

"I am not weak!" Zuko lept up from the bed, nearly collapsing as his unsteady legs nearly gave out beneath him. "My father has to see. I can change his mind; please, just take me to him!"

Iroh sighed, taking his nephew's hand and gently pushing him back down and wrapping an arm around his shaking, bare shoulders. _He's so thin_, Iroh thought worriedly. When the servants had first carried him in and stripped away the little clothing he wore, washing him down as they did, Iroh's jaw had dropped as the water washed away what appeared to be some sort of cosmetic, revealing deep, black and purple bruises and festering burns all across Zuko's torso, back, and legs. Now they were just beginning to fade, but Iroh couldn't stem the flood of guilt that coursed through him; he had known something was going on and had chosen to do nothing.

Zuko's head dropped, bowing in pain and shame and fear. "He can't do this," the prince whispered, almost inaudibly. "Not after everything . . . "

Choked, broken sobs wracked the boy's battered frame as he clutched his head in his hands, curling into a ball and only halfheartedly pushing away his Uncle's embrace.

"I have to see him." Not a question, but a quiet, desperate whisper. Head swimming, Zuko looked up at his Uncle, biting back the panic clawing inside his chest. "Please?"

The General's eyes squeezed shut, expression grave. "The Fire Lord will not see you, my nephew. He has banished you from his presence and from his lands. Now that you are conscious, I am afraid that we must depart quickly."

Zuko stiffened, then flopped down hopelessly on the mattress, biting down on the screams of rage and pain that threatened to erupt from him at any moment.

* * *

The prince lay awake long after night had fallen, the shock of the day's revelations preventing him from finding - or wanting - any sort of rest. He knew the sort of dreams he could expect to have should he succumb to sleep. Iroh snored softly from the armchair he'd had dragged into the infirmary, insisting that he would stay by his nephew's side. And as annoying as it might be, Zuko couldn't help the surge of gratitude and affection for his old Uncle. Zuko shivered, the chill air hitting his bare chest. They hadn't given him any clothes yet; he'd simply had to wear the sterile white pants they'd put on him while he'd been under. Sighing, the boy wrapped his arms around himself, allowing his mind to drift.

At first light, he was to be on a ship, sailing away. _How can I_, he thought, miserably. _How could he do this to me? I don't know where to go or what to do. How can Father possibly expect me to succeed? Unless . . . he doesn't want me to succeed. _

Zuko bit his tongue, mentally reprimanding himself. _That's ridiculous. He would never do that._ Grasping for some other topic to focus on, his mind settled for memories of his homeland's natural beauty. The way the sun made the waves sparkle like gems as they crashed against the white sand. The glorious sunrises and sunsets casting a million different colors across the sky. The thick tropical jungles that sprung up where no one would expect a plant to survive. He missed it already, all of the little things that he'd always taken for granted. Things that he might never see again. _These people, this place . . . it's all I know. How can he expect me to just leave it all behind? How can I leave them behind?_

Silence met his ears, the spirits deaf and dumb to his internal pleas. Soon, he would have to learn, because it would all be nothing more than a memory.

Carefully, so as not to wake his slumbering uncle, Zuko climbed out of the bed, tiptoed out the door. He found himself wandering to the more familiar parts of the castle. He paused briefly at Azula's door - _no, she wouldn't want to be disturbed, wouldn't want to see me anyway_ \- before entering his own. Or, what used to be his. Soon they would empty it out, probably burn his things as though he had died rather than left.

Grabbing a bag, he chose a few mementos to carry away with him; a shell Azula had given to him when she was a baby, a portrait of his mother, and another of her with his smiling younger self, letters Lu Ten had sent him before he'd died, his favorite outfit. As he moved on to the next room, what had once been his mother's chambers, he couldn't help but feel like a ghost wandering through the place it had haunted one last time before it vanished forever when the sun would rise.

They had long since emptied Ursa's chambers, but he'd continued to come curl up on her bed when he was sad or lonely. It was how he'd discovered the hidden panel in the headboard of the bed.

Stooping, Zuko pried it loose, setting it aside carefully as he lifted the contents of the stash into his lap. A few trinkets, pieces of jewelry; but what he wanted was the black dress she'd loved that he had managed to save, and wrapped up inside it, a blue and white mask with a demonic grin carved onto its face.

He grasped the wooden mask in his small, thin hands, lifting it to stare into its' empty eyes. The black slits stared back, the crazed grin unnerving him just as it had when he'd first discovered it. After a long moment, he wrapped it back up in the silky folds of the dress, tucked the bundle safely in his pack. Absentmindedly, his fingers traced his bare collarbone, only to freeze in panic as he realized the ribbon on which he always wore his mother's ring was no longer secured around his neck.

_I took it off_, he remembered, concentrating. _Put it in my pocket because I was afraid of losing it during the duel . . ._

Quickly feeling the thin white trousers he wore, he search turned up nothing. _It must still be in the clothes I was wearing when . ._ .

A choked sob forced its way free of his lips, tears spilling down his good cheek as he wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth as he struggled to regain his composure.

After a few moments, he succeeded, wiping the moisture from his face with one hand while securing his pack with the other. Replacing the panel, he made his way back to the infirmary, taking in every detail of the palace as though he'd never seen it before, bidding it a reverent, if silent, goodbye.

He tiptoed past the door of his room, unable to suppress the fleeting smirk as he rolled his eyes at his uncle's snores. Making his way to the linen closet just down the hall, he peered inside; and sure enough, there lay the crumpled, singed remains of his outfit. Biting his lip, he gingerly sifted through them, a small sigh of relief escaping him as the familiar silver band dropped to the floor with a quiet ping.

Zuko scooped it up, pulling off the frayed remains of the ribbon as he did. The prince stared at it for a long moment, utter misery and longing written across his face, before he hesitantly slid the band onto his ring finger, the same one she'd worn it on. A bit big, his hands were just barely large enough for it to stay on. Zuko clenched his hand into a fist, eyes squeezed shut, as though he could hold time still by sheer willpower.

_I'm sorry, Mom._

Turning sharply, he returned to his cot, crawling beneath the thin sheet and waited for the break of day.

* * *

Zuko sat in the corner of his tiny quarters, his arms and legs curled tight against his body.

_I will not cry_.

He was numb, could hardly feel anything besides the terrible burning pain on his face and the great emptiness in his chest. Hunched forward, Zuko hugged his knees tighter to his chest, gingerly laying his good cheek against them.

His father hadn't come to see him off. Not that he'd exactly expected him to, but somehow, he had hoped anyway. Azula, on the other hand, had marched out in full armor, with an escort, standing in formation as Iroh had led his dazed nephew on board the rinky - dink ship they'd been given. Her expression triumphant; mocking; as she'd given him a clipped nod.

_Goodbye, Zuko_, she'd said disdainfully, with an air of finality.

He had glanced over his shoulder at her, for what he knew might well be the very last time. Stared at her, taking in his younger sister's smug expression, the mocking wave of her fingers. But also saw the tiny little glint of . . . fear? She seemed glad he was leaving. But also like she was hiding something, some emotion she didn't want anyone to see. No one who didn't really know her would have noticed. But he had.

Closing his eyes, Zuko called up the mental image of his sister, studying it, focusing. The tiny, malicious little curve at the edge of her lips; the way her bangs cupped her jaw. Her pristine uniform, never a wrinkle or spot to be found on it. _Probably because she burns the ones that aren't absolutely flawless to ash._

Why did he have to make himself not to think of her in the past tense? Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus, to forget where he was and why. The tightness in his chest began to ease a little, breathing didn't hurt as much.

_ I need to focus_. He needed something, something to fixate on, something to help him stay afloat. Something to keep his mind off of . . .

_ No!_ he shouted mentally, squeezing his eyes shut as his heart clenched. _Don't think about it._

He needed focus. A drive, a purpose. An obsession.

The Avatar.

Zuko's hands curled into fists.

_If I find the Avatar, Father says I can return._

He should have felt relieved. He wanted to go back, didn't he? He wanted his father's love and admiration. So why did the very thought of being in his father's presence make his stomach heave?

Biting his tongue, Zuko suppressed the feeling. His fingernails dug into his palms, the sensation of pain shooting through his nervous system oddly relieving. _Father was right,_ he thought bitterly. _I am weak. __I deserve my punishment.__ I'm not worthy to be his heir._

_Have you forgotten why you did what you did?_ The other half of his mind screamed back. _They would have offered those soldiers up to be slaughtered. Fresh meat, they called them. They would have died just like the men in the hospitals. They would have suffered purposelessly. It was your duty to defend them. Father is the disgrace. He is dishonorable and selfish and callous. How else could he justify a duel with a thirteen-year-old? How else could he sacrifice his troops? How else could he abuse his only son-_

Zuko gasped, eyes widening as he glanced around the empty room in fear. _No. I can't. I can't ever tell._ As his mind caught up with his treasonous thoughts, he shuddered in horror. _What am I thinking? What would Father say if he could hear me?_

Zuko looked down at his clenched hands. Dark red blood welled from the half-circles where his nails had cut into his skin.

_ I am a loyal son. I will do Father's bidding and bring him the Avatar._ Zuko fought to control his ragged breathing, forced himself to calm down. _I will show him that I am good enough to be his son. His heir. And when I bring the Avatar to him in chains, he will see that I am not worthless. And he won't hurt me anymore because he'll finally see that I can be just as good as Azula. And we can be a family again._

Zuko smiled softly, imagining a rosy future, where he and Azula sparred by the pond, himself finally able to match her prodigious abilities, his father observing and calling out praise of his two children. Uncle Iroh interrupting them with an offer of tea, Azula smiling and muttering some halfhearted jab as she walked by, and Mother-

The smile froze.

_Mom._ He missed her, the terrible ache in his chest still as great as the day she had left. _Who said that time heals all wounds?_ Zuko stirred, wiped the blood off his hands and reached into the pack he'd dumped beside himself, pulling the soft cloth that met his fingers into his lap. He stroked the fabric, buried his face in it and breathed in its scent; her scent.

Feeling more confident, comforted, he stood, returned the dress to his bag. Zuko straightened, taking a deep breath and assuming an air of command. The ex - prince walked to the door, down the hall, winding his way to the ship's navigation room.

"Uncle," he called harshly. He had to be strong; and the only way he knew was to be forceful. When he was angry, people listened better. So he would be angry. For as long as it took to get himself home. "Set a course for the Western Air Temple."

Iroh stared at him, obviously shocked at his quick change of attitude. "Nephew-"

"Don't question me." _I'm better at this than I thought._ He tried not to let his surprise at his own aggression show on his face. "I have a task given to me by my father himself, and I will not fail. So get this ship turned about now."

Without another word, he stormed out, barely catching Iroh's surprised voice as he replied, "As you wish, Prince Zuko."

* * *

Standing at the edge of the cliff, Zuko stared out at the vast expanse of mist that hid the drop to the bottom of the canyon far below. He felt empty, nothing. _It would be so easy to just walk forward. Just a few steps, and it will be all over._ He found himself wondering how it would feel, to really fall, if it would feel the same as he felt inside as everything he wanted slowly vanished, as he descended into darkness. He'd been falling all this time, all his life, and now he was truly lost and it would be _so easy_-

"What a stunning view," Iroh said appreciatively from behind the firebender. Zuko flinched, wondering if Iroh knew what he'd been thinking. Guilt and shame rushed through him as he remembered Iroh's face hovering above him, broken and sad, asking _why . . ._

"The only view I'm interested in seeing," Zuko said harshly, to himself as much as his uncle, "is the Avatar in chains."

There was a brief silence. "You know," Iroh began again, approaching cautiously, "the Avatar hasn't been seen for a hundred years. The chances of finding him here are very slim."

_You think I don't know that?_ Zuko's eyes narrowed, but this was good, he wanted to be angry, he _needed_ to be angry. "First we'll check each of the Air Temples." Zuko walked forward, closer to the edge. "Then we'll scour the world, searching even the most remote locations until we find him."

"Prince Zuko," Uncle said gently, "it's only been a week since your banishment."

_I know._ How could he not? Zuko kept his face neutral, allowed his temper to flare up just a little higher inside of him.

"You should take some time to heal, and rest."

Zuko whirled, biting retort ready on his tongue without even having to think about it. Living with Azula could do that to a person. "What else would I expect to hear from the laziest man in the Fire Nation?"

_Why did I say that?_ He regretted the words instantly, that was going too far- but Iroh merely sighed, so Zuko kept his mouth shut. _Something I need to learn to do more often,_ he reminded himself bitterly.

"The only way to regain my honor," Zuko finally said, turning back to the edge, his voice more moderate, "is to find the Avatar. So I will." Zuko bowed his head.

_Or I will die trying._

Without another word, Zuko whirled away from the temptation of the drop, heading back into the depths of the temple. But somehow, with every passing moment, it seemed more and more likely that his unspoken addition would be the one that came true. And he was finding, to his own discomfort, that he didn't really mind the idea all that much.

* * *

**Hiiyaa...**

**So, I know it's kind of been awhile since I updated . . . life's been a little hectic and for some inexplicable reason this chapter was really hard for me to write. Why is it so much easier to focus on the story at 1 in the morning?**

**Also, I think I should mention, that this story is going to be huge and it is NOT being written in chronological order (which means that sometimes you probably won't get an update for awhile because I've been writing scenes that are literally years in the future from where it's at now . . .)**

**But I have lots of interesting plot twists (at least, I think they're interesting); because I've basically been throwing in almost every story idea I've had, rather than try to keep up with a dozen different fics. I have enough on my plate as it is, thank you very much . . .**

**So, what do you think? Also, opinions about shipping: what are the thoughts. I won't write slash/incest; and at this point it's looking like a Zutara (oh how I love my ship), but I'd like some feedback! Yes ship no ship other ship . . . And I'd also like reviews. Reviews make me very very happy when I get them and maniac depressed when I don't. Seriously. YOU GUYS NEED TO REVIEW. **

**Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll all stick around!**

**~Jackson**


	5. Chapter 5: The Avatar Returns

_Three Years Later_

On the ship's deck, Zuko impatiently prepared for his daily firebending practice. Uncle Iroh, already present, had preoccupied himself with one of his many board games while they waited for a few of his soldiers to arrive.

Everything was going exactly as expected. Exactly as it had yesterday, and the day before that. He hadn't thought today would be any different, had no reason to. But suddenly, all of his _expectations_ jumped over the side of the ship as a gigantic, brilliant beam of energy blasted straight up into the sky.

The prince stared in wonder, momentarily overcome. Jumbled, his thoughts finally came together; the only logical conclusion he could come to being that the last three years of misery were about to be forever behind him.

"Finally," he breathed. A gust of wind enveloped him, the frigid air penetrating the cracks in his armor. Three years ago, he'd have jumped for joy. Shouted excitedly. But time, he had found, was a long, slow poison that had stolen his innocence and destroyed everything he cared about. The naive child that had curled up inside the shell of a man that Zuko had become would never see the light of day again. He lived only in dreams, only in his own mind.

Zuko turned. "Uncle, do you realize what this means?!"

The old man glanced up briefly, absorbed in his next move. "I won't get to finish my game?"

Refusing to let his uncle get to him, he faced the glow once more. "It means my search is about to come to an end."

Iroh sighed disinterestedly. Zuko whirled, defensive. "That light came from an incredibly powerful source!" In the distance, the beam flickered and dissipated. "It has to be him!"

_It has to._

"Or," Iroh said speculatively, gesturing at the sky, "it's just the celestial lights. We've been down this road before, Prince Zuko. I don't want you to get too excited over nothing." The old man lay down one of his tiles, returning to whatever game he was playing. "Please, sit. Why don't you enjoy a cup of calming Jasmine tea?"

Furious at the cajoling tone, he lashed out. "I don't need any calming tea! I need to capture the Avatar!"

Biting his tongue, he pointed in the direction the beam had come from. "Helmsman! Head a course for the light!"

* * *

As another gust of wind swept across the deck, Zuko still faced to the front of the ship, wondering quietly if he'd made the right decision, choosing to transform himself into this overwrought, harsh person. Sometimes it seemed like hardly a few minutes went by without him biting someone's head off. But that was what he wanted, right? He _needed_ the rage. His anger was the only thing that held him together these days. And it wasn't as though he could go back now.

_What have I become?_

He'd changed into a loose robe and the simple grey outfit he often slept in. Was standing there, on the upper balcony, lost in thought as the evening fell; the overcast skies quickly darkening. Zuko's ears perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching behind him, but he didn't move.

"I'm going to bed now." Iroh yawned, obnoxiously loudly. "Yep, a man needs his rest."

Zuko didn't answer. Sometimes it seemed like all his uncle ever did was pester him.

"Prince Zuko," Iroh tried again, "You need some sleep. Even if you're right, and the Avatar is alive, you won't find him! Your father, grandfather, and great - grandfather all tried and failed."

The prince's hands clenched. "Because their honor didn't hinge on the Avatar's capture. Mine does. This coward's hundred years in hiding are over."

_They have to be._

* * *

The sun had painted the skies yellow, another day slowly slipping away.

"Again," Iroh commanded.

Zuko folded his arms, then flicked his elbows out, sending a blast of flame at each of his opponents. They blocked the attack with ease, the firebender to his left striking out with a blast of his own, forcing Zuko to duck. Whipping around, he jumped up, sending another blast at the other combatant. He landed in a crouch, the three of them having changed positions. He straightened, arms extended, fists clenched.

Eyes locked on his opponents, the prince could hear Iroh sigh as he stood. "No!" Zuko dropped the stance, looking at his uncle. "Power in firebending comes from the breath, not the muscles!" The former general emphasized the the motion of breathing with his hands as he spoke. Stretching out his left arm in demonstration, he continued. "The breath becomes energy in the body. The energy extends past your limbs and becomes fire!" Iroh let a burst of flame escape from his fist, nearly scorching Zuko's face. He forced himself not to flinch. "Get it right this time."

Suppressing the urge to growl, Zuko stepped forward, controlling the frustration in his voice. "Enough. I've been drilling this sequence all day. Teach me the next set. I'm more than ready."

"No," Iroh contended, "you are impatient. You have yet to master your basics." Sitting back down, Iroh addressed the soldiers behind them. "Drill again!"

Zuko let something between a growl and a sigh escape through clenched teeth. Turning, he kicked a powerful blast at one of the soldiers. Unable to block it, the man collapsed to the ground, thrown by the force of the furious prince's flames. He faced his uncle as he spoke, irritation and anger contorting his face. "The sages tell us that the Avatar is the last airbender." Walked forward, hunched down to look his uncle in the eye. "He must be over a hundred years old by now. He's had a century to master the four elements. I'll need more than basic firebending to defeat him." Unable to stop himself, he snarled at the old man. "You _will_ teach me the advanced set!"

Glaring, Iroh nodded reluctantly. "Very well." Glancing to the side, the old man grinned delightedly. "But first, I must finish my roast duck." He began shoveling pieces of cooked fowl into his mouth.

Zuko struggled to mask his dumbfounded expression.

* * *

They were still drilling, hours after Iroh had retired, when an explosion met their ears. Whirling, Zuko scanned the skies, quickly located the bright trail of smoke following the remains of a distress flare. Zuko grabbed his telescope, peering towards the source of the rocket. As the lens fixed on the ship, a battered and dilapidated old husk, two distant figures popped out of the roof. A male, bald and wearing bright reds and yellows; carrying a girl dressed in Water Tribe blue. _As if there's any other kind of blue, _his inner-self snorted. Zuko shook his head slightly, wishing that the nagging voices in his head would just go away - they hadn't done him any good so far and weren't planning to in the foreseeable future.

Then the brightly clad figure jumped, making extraordinary leaps down the side of the ship.

An excited gasp escaped the prince. "The last airbender," he breathed, adrenaline pouring through him. Zuko squinted, continued to watch as they reached the ground, the Avatar setting the girl down and walking away with her. "Quite agile for his old age."

He straightened, calling to the soldier standing in the doorway. "Wake my uncle! Tell him - I found the Avatar."

Zuko peered back through the glass, watched them running across the snow. He angled it ahead of them, surveyed the landscape. A tiny stream of smoke caught his eye, and he followed it, spotted the tiny village hiding in the snow. "As well as his hiding place."

* * *

In his chambers, several of his men assisted him into his armor. Zuko held out his arms, allowed them to tie his shoulder plates in place. He stared ahead expressionlessly, masking all the emotions surging through him. Hope, fear, anticipation. He couldn't understand why he felt these things . . . he _should _be excited, but why was he afraid? _Maybe I won't be able to defeat him, maybe I'll be killed, maybe I'll be stuck on this tub for the rest of my life . . ._

They all seemed fairly reasonable, but something just wasn't sitting right.

_Maybe you're afraid you'll succeed._

What?

He frowned as they slid the helmet onto his head, completing the ensemble. _I don't have time to fight myself on this too. I'm so close._

_I finally have him._

* * *

They could hear the ice cracking as the ship rammed into the giant floe where the village lay. Muffled screams penetrated the hull as the gigantic metal tub shuddered and groaned to a halt. _Whose bright idea was it to smash the ship into the village?_ Zuko wondered, rather bothered by the thought. He and his battalion of men stood in formation inside the hull of the ship, waiting for the captain to lower the bow. _At least it probably makes for a memorable entrance._ After all, half the war was waged with scare tactics._ Appearances are very important._

He snapped back to attention as the ship let out a great hiss of steam, the gears slowly turning as the front of the ship opened its maw. Zuko gestured to two of his men, who immediately flanked him.

The walkway descended to the ground with a loud thud. Zuko took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders as he marched forward, his face set grimly. The darkness gave way to the dim white light of the South Pole, the air biting and clear. Zuko looked down, saw a small crowd in Water Tribe blue gawking up at him.

Women and children. Behind them were a few scattered tents and igloos. _I knew that the Fire Nation had destroyed the Southern Water Tribe as a military power, but I had no idea we left them so destitute._

He shook himself mentally. _The men are probably all hiding behind a pile of snow, ready to ambush us._ The only male he could see besides a few toddlers was directly in front of him, kneeling at the base of the ramp. The boy stood, lifting what appeared to be some sort of machete, and charged the firebenders head - on, yelling at the top of his lungs.

Zuko kicked the weapon out of his hands, swinging his leg back around and letting his foot connect with the boy's head. A pained cry escaped him as he flew to the side, landing upside - down in a pile of snow. Zuko almost felt sorry for him. The scene reminded him too much of his 'spars' with Azula.

The other villagers gasped audibly at the dispatch of their only visible defender, shrinking away as Zuko continued his approach. He refused to let himself pity them. _I'm too close. I can't be distracted now._

He paused before the ring of Water Tribe citizens - _mothers holding their babies while their toddlers hide behind them!_ Silence fell, and Zuko forced himself to focus, scanning each and every face.

"Where are you hiding him?"

The villagers stared back at him mutely. Seething, Zuko reached forward, past a girl with stunning blue eyes, snatched the elderly woman beside her by the parka and shaking her a bit for good measure. "He'd be about this age, master of all elements?"

He shoved her back, watching as the old woman shuddered and clung to the girl, who returned the embrace fiercely, shooting the prince an angry glare. _She's about my age,_ Zuko noticed vaguely, distracted. His irritation grew with each passing moment. Between the guilt that gnawed at his insides at his own rough treatment of a seemingly innocent, elderly woman, his growing embarrassment at the whole situation, the backwater peasants of the south staring at him with blank, empty expressions, obviously having no idea what in the world he was talking about. It made him feel extremely foolish. Zuko _hated_ feeling foolish.

Swinging his arm out, he released an arc of fire towards the villagers. He knew he was angry and probably overreacting, but he'd been out - of - control of his own temper for so long he couldn't stop himself sometimes. The flames dissipated before they could do any damage - he wasn't _that_ barbaric - but it had the desired effect, the people crying out in fear, attempting to shield themselves from his wrath. "I know you're hiding him!"

A sharp cry from behind him caught his attention. The boy he'd dispatched earlier had pulled himself free from the snowdrift, charging at the invading prince with some sort of club. He looked less - than - sane, most of the paint smudged away and yelling at the top of his lungs. Zuko scoffed internally. _Maybe he really is the only warrior left._

Zuko ducked under the Water Tribe boy's clumsy swing, hurling him forward into the snow to land with the rest of his people. Smugly, Zuko punched a small blast of flame at him, though his smirk vanished as the 'warrior' flung a piece of metal at his head. Zuko barely managed to evade the attack, growling in anger at the close call. He glanced behind him, his eyes tracking the small silver gleam till it vanished from view. _This guy is an idiot. Who does he think he's messing with?_

One of the smaller boys - he couldn't have been more than five or six, threw a spear to their fallen protector, shouting in his best impression of a tough, manly voice, "Show no fear!"

Zuko's less - than - worthy combatant caught the wooden shaft, charging the prince again. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Zuko smashed the head of the spear between his armguards, breaking off the tip, before yanking the rest of the stick out of his hands and, just for good measure, poked him in the head with it repeatedly before snapping the shaft and discarding the pieces. The Water Tribe boy fell to the ground, and for a brief moment Zuko felt gleeful - as a child, he'd always been the one beaten and embarrassed with skillful ease by . . . everyone, really. Now he appreciated the chance to finally give some back - before a cold knot of guilt settled in his stomach. _I'm no better than Azula._

From his awkward seat on the ground where he clutched his head in a pained grimace, the boy looked up, at - no, beyond Zuko, and just as the firebender was about to glance at whatever was distracting this backwater idiot, a low whirring sounded in his ears and something hard smashed into the back of his head. Zuko stumbled forward, helmet knocked askew by the blow. Straightening and fixing his helmet, a low growl of pent - up fury escaped him as he spotted the offending object - the metal sliver that had been not - so - unsuccessfully launched at him earlier lying in the snow before its owner. His fingers curled into fists as small jets of fire flared from his hands.

Something smashed into the back of his legs, speeding underneath him and throwing him up in the air. Zuko flailed, flipping over and plummeting face - first into the snow, his cry of shock muffled by the thick powder. A moment later, his helmet, thrown off in the commotion, came crashing back down directly on the prince's backside. Shocked with the sudden cold, extremely embarrassed, and now far beyond angry, Zuko leapt to his feet. His assailant skidded to a halt; a small boy dressed in bright reds and yellows, sitting astride a penguin - otter. The Water Tribe women were chuckling despite themselves, and the children were out - and - out cheering. Zuko was suddenly glad that the unexpected chill of the snow on his face had already turned his good cheek bright red.

After a moment, the penguin - otter bucked off its' rider, waddling away as quickly as its' stubby legs could carry it. The boy landed on his rear with a thump, smiling at the retreating creature, who gave him an indignant quack as it hurried in the other direction.

"Hey Katara. Hey Sokka."

Stunned, Zuko had to work very hard to keep his jaw from dropping. This boy, clearly the Avatar by his outfit and arrow tattoos, had defeated him with a _penguin - otter,_ and now was not even acknowledging him as a threat? Greeting the village idiot cheerfully?

"Hi Aang," returned the Water Tribe boy, _Sokka,_ some dormant part of Zuko's brain noted, a glum tone in his voice. "Thanks for coming."

_Well, I did just thoroughly kick his ass in front of his whole village._ He conveniently forgot the incident with the boomerang a moment ago.

The Avatar _finally_ turned his attention to the invaders. Taking a careful stance, his uncle's advice replaying in his mind - _Strength comes from the breath, remember your basics, Prince Zuko - _he motioned for his soldiers to fan out, surrounding the bald boy. The Avatar also readied himself, staff held out firmly in front of him. Suddenly, he swept the staff to his sides, knocking snow onto Zuko's men, before aiming a blast at the Prince himself. Zuko tensed, bracing himself as a fresh layer of white spattered him. Cursing mentally, he glared at the kid, feeling himself heat the air around him as the snow melted and trickled off of his skin.

"Looking for me?" He was practically _taunting _him. Him, Prince of the Fire Nation, who had invaded the South Pole and was so close to capturing the Avatar himself; and this kid was giving him _attitude?_

"You're the airbender," he breathed, incredulous even though he had known it the moment he'd laid eyes on him. "You're the Avatar?"

"Aang?" The girl with the bright blue eyes, _Katara,_ he thought he'd heard the Avatar call her, seemed completely shocked. And so did the boy, _Sokka_.

"No way," he grumbled, disbelieving.

_Focus._ Zuko and the Avatar circled one another, waiting to see who would strike first. Anger surged in him and he needed to say something, how this wasn't fair, he shouldn't have to do this to a child - his own thirteen year old self flashed in his mind, groveling on the ground - _NO. "_I've spent years preparing for this encounter. Training, meditating." He felt it surge again, this wasn't coming out at all like it should. "You're just a child," Zuko spat. _I was just a child._

The Avatar's head titled, looking at Zuko with a mildly confused expression. "Well, you're just a teenager."

The dam broke. Snarling with rage, at the Water Tribe, at the Avatar, at the world . . . at his father's ridiculous expectations. _I'm just a teenager._ He blasted at the air nomad, somehow managing to keep his form precise and controlled; even if his emotions weren't. The quiet, calm little voice in the back of his mind mentally noted how well Uncle Iroh's training was paying off; but the rest of him screamed at it to shut up already.

The Avatar calmly deflected his barrage, twirling his staff to dissipate the incoming flames. Suddenly, as the Avatar glanced behind him, the frightened screams of the villagers registered in the prince's mind. He froze, as the Avatar held out his staff in what could only be taken as a cease - fire. The cries echoed in his ears, and looking at the child closest to him, he could see his six - year - old self staring back in fear. Zuko felt sick.

"If I go with you," the Avatar said urgently, catching the prince's eyes, "will you promise to leave everyone alone?"

Relief surged through Zuko. After only a moment, he straightened, dropping his stance, and nodded grimly. He could leave these people in peace - with the Avatar in tow.

The soldiers - _his_ soldiers - closed in on the monk, confiscating his staff and taking him firmly by the arms. Zuko turned, glad to go, but hesitated as the blue - eyed girl - _Katara, _that infuriating voice reminded him - ran forward.

"No! Aang, don't do this!" She sounded desperate - and Zuko couldn't help thinking that he would too, if it had been his friend . . . if he'd had a friend.

"Don't worry, Katara, it'll be okay," the Avatar said, quite calm despite the fact that he was being taken away by the very people who'd destroyed his own. _Shut. Up._ he growled internally, wishing it would just go away and stop pestering him, stop reminding him of things. The Avatar's gasp as he was shoved up the ramp brought Zuko's attention back to the scene at hand. The girl's face had contorted into an expression of despair and fear. She looked like she might cry. _Spirits, I hope she doesn't._ "Take care of Appa for me until I get back."

_Back?_ Zuko's mind whirled. _He's already planning to escape; even though he promised to come in exchange for their safety. _The prince bit back a growl, refusing to let the girl's - or the child Avatar's - plight move him any more. "Head a course for the Fire Nation."

He entered the bowels of the ship, feeling empty and cold instead of triumphant. "I'm going home."

The words didn't fill him with the joy or relief he'd always imagined whenever he'd picture himself finally saying them.

* * *

**Hiiii!**

**So, first of all, HUGE thank yous to:**

**avatarfan82 **

**alyssialui**

**Malevolent Dark Reflection**

**CherishRedemption**

**KATAANG32**

**puffskien overlord of darkness**

**Lethotep**

**WriterGirl7673**

**And that one very thoughtful Guest**

**FOR ALL THE WONDERFUL REVIEWS! **

**I love you, guys. I really do. And if I don't update fast enough, it's all Ciloron's fault for making me promise to read his nightmare of a fic, Avatar: the Tides of Chaos. He really needs more paragraph spaces.**

**This took me so long because I was trying to fit a lot more stuff in here; however, some people from my forum advised me to cut it short cause it was getting pretty long . . . but anyway hopefully this means we'll get the next chapter a lot sooner, right?**

**Thank you all for being so patient and supportive. It means a lot to an insecure writer like me. :)**

**~Evil Angel**


	6. Chapter 6: Only A Child

Chapter 5: Only a Child

* * *

They stood on the deck, the dilapidated remains of the Water Tribe village well out of sight. Cold air whipped at their clothes, pulling at each of them: Zuko, his Uncle, his soldiers, and the Avatar. The prince didn't understand why the thought didn't send excitement surging through his veins, or relieve the tension, the _ache_ buried deep in his chest. Clenched in his hands, the wooden staff he'd confiscated from this _child_ bit into his cold-numbed fingers. Reminded him to keep his expressions to those safe for a banished prince of the Fire Nation; guarded, angry, hostile. Not sad or confused or conflicted.

"This staff will make an excellent gift for my father." Zuko pretended to inspect the staff, keeping his tone cold and detached. "I suppose you wouldn't know of fathers, being raised by monks."

_Don't get attached, Zuzu. He's not your pet._

Shaking away his sister's voice, he turned his head sharply. "Take the Avatar to the prison hold. And take this," he extended the staff to Uncle, "to my quarters."

Zuko turned sharply, walking away quickly. He needed to find someplace to sit down and think, somewhere to wonder why now, when he finally had everything he'd yearned for for two - nearly three - years in his grasp, did his stomach give a sharp twist at the thought of handing the Avatar over to the Fire Lord? Why did he feel so guilty? He was just following orders. He was _supposed _to obey his father.

_He's only a child._

As he wandered aimlessly about the ship he'd been forced to call home for the last few years, Prince Zuko found he was growing quite tired of asking himself questions that had no answers.

* * *

"The Avatar has escaped!"

The shouts echoed down the corridor. Zuko whirled, raced back to his rooms. _He'll be after his precious stick._ Part of him was furious at the airbender's apparent untrustworthiness; they had barely been gone an hour and already he had gone back on their agreement - but the other, buried part was strangely relieved. Shaking his head, he slid behind the open door, making sure the staff was well in sight of anyone passing by. _There's no time for this,_ he thought. _I've come too far to give him up now._

Barely a minute had passed before footsteps thumped down the hallway - light, fleet-footed steps. Zuko's eyes narrowed.

"My staff!"

The boy dashed inside, and Zuko extended an arm, slamming the door shut. Whirling, the Avatar cringed at the sight of his captor's glare, one arm barring his exit. "Looks like I underestimated you."

He said nothing in reply, so after a brief moment, Zuko struck; blasting a ball of flame at the airbender - who shrieked and dodged. They repeated; Zuko attacking with short, controlled bursts, and the Avatar ducking and dancing away from the flames. Suddenly, the boy leapt forward, rolled between the prince's legs. Zuko spun, but the monk ducked behind him. Unable to attack head-on, Zuko's already short-reigned temper began to disintegrate. He could feel his restraint slipping, his controlled blasts growing wilder and more frenzied as he began to panic.

_Come on, Zuzu. Can't even catch a child Avatar. You're lucky he's so young - at this rate you'd be dead if he had been grown. _Azula's malicious voice whispered, tittering gleefully.

Frustration began to boil in the prince's veins - _just stay still_ \- and he whirled, his attacks becoming more and more undisciplined as he struggled to locate the boy. Desperate to land a blow, Zuko struck blindly behind himself, frustration increasing as the airbender quelled his flames with small, spiraling gusts.

_I must have struck close,_ he thought, as the Avatar gasped and spun in front of him, kicking at his chest. Zuko stumbled backwards as the boy used the momentum of the kick to thrust himself into the air, forming a ball of wind as he did and mounting it in much the same fashion as he had the otter - penguin.

Zooming about on his makeshift scooter, the monk evaded each and every one of his punches. Fury, frustration, and fear of failure had now completely overruled all other thought: Zuko's attacks became bigger, hotter, and wilder with every passing minute; and even though he knew in the back of his mind that something - or someone - was about to get hurt _very_ badly if this continued very much longer, he just didn't care anymore - because he had come _so far_ and lost _so much_ and he couldn't afford to lose him now.

Zuko spun, flames whirling out from his fist in a gigantic fiery swirl; and then another, and another. The Avatar gasped as the flames seared dangerously close. He ducked, zooming right beside Zuko; and the prince reached out quickly - blasting the airball right out from under the monk.

_Took you long enough. _Zuko growled; wishing Azula's voice would just shut up and leave him alone. The boy went flying into the wall, a cry escaping his lips as he hit the far wall upside down. Punching at him immediately, the Avatar pressed his palms against the floor on either side of head and launched himself upward behind the tapestry that fluttered above him and catching hold of the cloth as he leapt forward to deflect Zuko's latest attack.

In a moment of confusion - _what on earth is he doing with the curtain? - _Zuko hesitated. Just for a second - rational thought breaking through for that fleeting instant - but it was all it took for the Avatar to get the upper hand. Zuko shook it off, calling flames to his palms, but the Avatar deflected him, circling his arms and snapping the fabric around Zuko. By the time the prince caught on to his plan, the tapestry was twisted tightly around his torso, immobilizing his arms.

_No, no, no!_ Growling with exertion, Zuko breathed in, forcing himself to calm, and rooted his legs, bursting free of the restraint with an explosion of his element and snapping back into a beginning stance. _Remember your basics,_ Iroh's voice whispered. For once, he didn't argue.

The Avatar had taken the moment to retrieve his staff, and the two faced off once again. _I have to beat him. I can't lose. _They moved to circle combatively; but with a deceptively minuscule swipe to the side with his staff, a burst of air propelled the cot in the corner into Zuko's side, slamming him against the wall.

Momentarily stunned, Zuko flopped down on the unconventional projectile with a grunt of pain as his vision swam. And then then ceiling was rushing to meet him, another groan escaping him as he thumped back to the floor; this time cushioned by his cot. For a moment he lay still, stunned into inaction.

The room was empty. The Avatar had gone.

A low cackle echoed through his head. _He beat you! Father will never believe this! A child, upstart Avatar; and he _beat_ you with nothing but airbending!_

Zuko forced himself to lift his head, reorienting his vision quickly and pushing himself upward, a low growl hissing through his clenched teeth.

_I can't lose him._

* * *

He was running blindly through the hall, the only sounds registering in his panicked mind the fleet footsteps pounding just ahead and the desperate thumping of his blood as it thrummed through his veins. _Down the corridor, past the mess hall, up the stairs._ Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered, spurring him towards the most likely destination of the Avatar's flight.

Sure enough, there was a groan of machinery just as he reached the doorway; a flash of yellow disappearing through the hatch that led to the Navigation Room. Zuko leapt up, moving faster and more precisely in his rush of adrenaline than he ever remembered having done before.

Then he was through - and the Avatar was _right there_ \- throwing his staff forward as it unfurled into a glider. The monk leapt forwards, arms outstretched.

_Failure is not an option._

So Zuko jumped.

* * *

Miraculously, his finger caught the Avatar's ankle, gripping it tightly. The boy let out a dismayed cry, struggling and kicking in a desperate attempt to throw Zuko off as the deck below rushed to meet them. Zuko somehow managed to land on _top_ of the airbending monk, both of them flipping head over heels several times before landing in a sprawl just a few feet away from one another.

Adrenaline surged through Zuko, blood pumping through his veins like a runaway ostrich horse as he pushed himself up on his hands. _I have to win. I have to beat him._ His pale, golden eyes narrowed as he exhaled determinedly, rising to his feet. The Avatar stood, a look of panic on his face that made Zuko's insides curdle, when a great roar shattered both of their focus, both of them peering at the sky behind the monk's shoulder.

A large, white creature with gigantic arrow - shaped patterns in it's shaggy fur sailed through the air, headed directly towards the warship.

He couldn't help it. Attention completely diverted, Zuko dropped his stance, staring.

"_What_ is that?"

"Appa!" The Avatar cried excitedly.

Blinking, Zuko shook himself. _I have a task to complete._

He struck. The Avatar, sensing Zuko's movement, whirled his staff in a panicked attempt to block; but he'd been as distracted as Zuko and the prince's flames knocked him into the side of the ship, where he teetered uncertainly. Cursing himself even as he did, Zuko hesitated a moment as the boy recovered his balance, before striking again. The monk successfully blocked the first and second, but at Zuko's third attack he lost his grip on the glider, sending it spinning away, far out of his reach.

Zuko continued to hound him with basic, simplistic punches and kicks, determined not to lose control of his temper again. The Avatar ducked, spinning and leaping out of the way; landing on the very edge of the rail. Zuko thrust more flames at his opponent, but as he did he suddenly noticed how the boy wobbled, unbalanced, on his perch.

Too late to stop it, he could only watch as they struck the airbender, knocking him out cold and over the rail, plunging into the ocean.

Horror and despair flooded over him. _He was only a child._

And there was also the fact that his father would never buy the story. _Hi dad! Guess what? I captured the Avatar, but he got out of his cell and I accidentally knocked him into the frigid ocean. Yes, he drowned. No, there's no body. I can still come home, right?_

Dimly, he became aware of someone shouting. "Aang! Aang! _Aang!_"

_Aang. Avatar Aang._

Then suddenly the water began to churn, rocking the ship, and a vortex of waves shot into the sky, the Avatar riding at the crescendo. Zuko's jaw dropped, stepping back in horror as the Avatar, eyes and tattoos eerily glowing, landed on the deck and whipped the water in a circle, sending Zuko flying over the edge of the ship.

_Turnabout is fair play,_ his uncle's voice reminded him.

He managed to catch the anchor chain with one hand, gasping in pain as his shoulder wrenched at the sudden jerk.

_I have to get back up there._

Swinging an arm up above his head, he began to climb.

_Almost there . . ._

Head level with the side of the deck - he found himself on the blunted end of the Avatar's staff.

_Smack. Smack. Smack._

The Water Tribe boy thumped him in the head, shoving Zuko down, where he managed to tangle himself in the anchor just before he hit the water.

"That's from the Water Tribe," he crowed triumphantly.

Growling with frustration, Zuko began to climb again. One hand over the other. He reached the ledge, just as Uncle appeared and offered him a hand. Grabbing it and hauling himself to his feet, he glanced about wildly. The bison took off with a loud groan, leaving several of his men frozen to the deck.

"Shoot them down!"

He fell into a stance beside his uncle, moving in sync as they generated an enormous ball of flame and lobbed it at the retreating trio - Avatar, Water Tribe idiot, and the bright - eyed girl Zuko had seen earlier.

With a mighty cry, the Avatar batted the attack away with a huge gust of air.

_Bad idea,_ Zuko realized, too late, as it crashed into the glacier they'd been cruising alongside. Terror surged through him as a wave of ice and snow came crumbling down from above him, the impact violently rocking the ship and knocking the disgraced prince to his knees.

After a moment, he pushed himself to his feet, silently thanking whatever spirits had been watching over them that no one had been seriously injured. Staring after the retreating form of the Avatar and company, he found an odd sense of . . . relief growing in his chest.

_What is wrong with me? Why do I want myself to fail?_

"Good news for the Fire Lord," Iroh said interrupting his nephew's reverie. "The Fire Nation's greatest threat is just a little kid."

_Just a little kid,_ his mind echoed back at him accusingly.

"That _kid_, Uncle," Zuko snarled, more at himself than Iroh, "just did _this._ I won't underestimate him again." His voice sharpened, ringing out across the deck. "Dig the ship out and follow them!"

There was a brief pause, as Zuko realized that all of his men were currently either hauling their comrades out of the ocean, or attempting to unthaw the three unlucky soldiers who'd been caught by the waterbender.

"As soon as you're done with that," he amended, feeling foolish. Fighting the flush that threaten to stain his good cheek crimson, he glared up at the sky one last time, before beating a tactical retreat to his quarters, detouring to borrow a few maps from the Navigation room.

* * *

Three hours later, Zuko was beating his head against the wall in frustration. He had absolutely no idea where the damned airbender would hide, no idea where to begin looking. _The only place I can think of he wouldn't be is that Southern village, _he thought crossly, sliding down against the cold metal. _Everywhere else is just as likely as the next place!_

His room smelled of smoke and ash, the tattered remains of the draperies he'd incinerated scattered across the floor. He didn't care. His uncle was the one who'd insisted he needed some decor in his room.

Zuko sincerely doubted they'd be stupid enough to try going back. He'd found them there once already, and they obviously wanted him to keep away from what remained of their tribe.

A wave of nausea passed over him as the thought occurred to the ex - prince that any other commander would turn the ship about and wipe out every last one of those villagers in retribution. After all, the Avatar already reneged on his part of the bargain. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he struggled not to vomit as the faces of the women and children flashed before him, lying broken in clusters atop crimson snow.

Even in speculation, he knew he'd never be able to commit such a thing.

_Weakling, _that voice whispered. _Father was right about you. You're a softie, a coward. Too scared of the monsters in your head to do your duty to your nation._

Someone rapped at the door.

Snapping upright, Zuko growled, trying not to let his relief at the interruption show. "What it it?" At that moment, the ship lurched, then began to move.

"Prince Zuko," Iroh said, slightly muffled by the door, "we have the ship moving again, but the damages are extensive. We will have to find a port where we can make repairs immediately."

Zuko bit back a groan. Repairs would cost them at the least the better part of a day, cost a small - or not so small, from the sound of things - fortune, but worst of all, force Zuko from the safety and solitude of his ship.

There was practically nothing Zuko hated more than stopping at ports. Sure, the soldiers running off to the taverns and brothels were a pain to deal with, and Uncle's spendthrift habits were a nightmare come to life: but all of that paled at the prospect of having to be seen in public.

At first, there would be shocked silence, as everyone stared openly at the left side - the marred side - of his face. Gawked and gestured and pointed until the ex - prince wished the ground would just open up and swallow him whole.

But then the whispering would begin.

He'd heard it all, every last word.

_"That's Prince Zuko."_

_"The Fire Lord's son?"_

_"Yep."_

_"Wonder why he's here."_

_"Haven't you heard? He's searching for the Avatar."_

_"Pah! Good luck with that."_

_"Is that a training scar?"_

_"No, I heard he got it for talking back to his father."_

_"Utter disrespect."_

_"Well, I heard the Fire Lord challenged him to an Agni Kai, but he refused to fight."_

_"Aye, and that's also why Fire Lord Ozai banished him."_

_"Such cowardice."_

_"What a disgrace."_

_"He's a shame to the royal family."_

_"Hideous."_

Zuko's chest clenched, that ever - present feeling of all consuming misery sweeping through him and threatening to overwhelm the banished prince as he forced the tears that prickled at his lids away. Clearing his throat, he addressed the door.

"Then set a course for the nearest outpost. I want to be back on the hunt as soon as possible."

"Yes, nephew," he heard his uncle reply, his footsteps fading down the hallway a moment later and leaving Zuko all alone with his thoughts.

_Always alone._

_You'll always be alone._

Zuko curled up in a ball, biting his lip and staring up at the ceiling.

He hadn't cried in nearly three years, and he wasn't about to start now.

* * *

**Finished! Finally!**

**Again, thank you to everyone who reviewed (my battery is about to die so I don't have time to list names; you know who you are and you all get big hugs)!**

**Special thanks to Seraina for the plot advice! I'll see you for the next chapter!**

**~Evil Angel**


	7. Chapter 7: Even In Disgrace

Chapter 6: Even In Disgrace

* * *

"And by the year's end, the Earth Kingdom capital will be under our rule."

Zuko sat resolutely in his chair, silently wishing to be anywhere but here, pretending to listen to the pompous commander as he droned on and on about superior tactics and glory and his own general brilliance. Either unknowing or uncaring, Zhao blustered on.

"The Fire Lord will finally claim victory in this war."

Something bubbled in the former crown prince, some feeling he couldn't put a name to that left him torn between laughing in derision or spitting in disgust. _The people of the Earth Kingdom are strong, strong enough to withstand our 'superiority' for a hundred years. The capture of one city will not break them. Not after they've weathered everything we've thrown at them over the last century._ "If my father thinks the rest of the world will follow him willingly, then he is a _fool_," Zuko spat, not bothering to hide the disdain that colored his voice.

"Two years at sea have done nothing to temper your tongue," Zhao remarked offhandedly, taking the chair to Zuko's right.

Suddenly cold, he bit the tip of his tongue in an effort to mask the surge of emotions as memories surged unbidden to his mind, snippets of a day he'd never, ever be able to truly forget - no matter how hard he tried.

Obviously enjoying the disgraced prince's torment, Zhao smiled smugly. "So, how is your search for the Avatar going?"

If he hadn't actually found the infuriating monk, that jibe would've hurt a lot more. As it was, the reminder of his failure to detain the boy stung sharply.

At that moment, the entire rack of weaponry lined up against the wall crashed to the floor with a loud grating sound. Zuko never lifted his eyes from the table in front of him - he could guess the source of the incident and was more than a little relieved to be taken off the spot. That tiny, untainted piece of him that he kept buried deep sniggered gleefully as he saw Zhao turn in annoyance from the corner of his eye. _Serves him right._

"Eh, my fault, entirely," Iroh apologized awkwardly.

_Thank you, Uncle,_ he thought as Zhao returned his attention to the teenager sitting beside him. Steeling himself, Zuko met Zhao's gaze. "We haven't found him yet."

"Did you really expect to? The Avatar died a hundred years ago - along with the rest of the airbenders."

Zuko hated his sneer, hated the belittling tone and condescension. He averted his eyes, wishing for all the world that he didn't have to hide the truth, that he could stand up and say that he'd been right all along. _Screw you, Commander Monkeyface,_ he thought savagely, imagining Zhao's expression if he'd said it out loud.

"Unless," Zhao said, after a moment's pause, "you've found some evidence that the Avatar is alive." Zuko's gaze flickered back to the Commander. _Not a question. A statement._

_Does he_ _know?_ All Zuko knew was that Zhao's expression was one of pure, malicious ambition. He turned, looking him straight in the eye, tone firm but despondent as his fist clenched. "No." he looked away once again, fingers slackening. "Nothing."

"Prince Zuko." _He sounds like I'm a child that he's scolding._ Zhao vacated his seat, stepping forward and standing as close as he possibly could without completely invading Zuko's personal space. "The Avatar is the only one who can stop the Fire Nation from winning this war."

He bent down, as though it pained him to stoop so low as to address the disgrace before him, voice dropping to a dangerously low growl.

"If you have an ounce of loyalty left, you'll tell me what you've found."

"I haven't found," Zuko replied, deigning to lift his eyes, "anything. It's like you said: the Avatar probably died a long time ago."

He didn't think Zhao looked convinced.

Standing, Zuko made for the entrance, shoulders straight and posture defiant. "Come on, Uncle, we're going."

He shouldn't have been surprised when the guards blocked his exit. Shouldn't have been surprised when a new voice spoke up behind him.

"Commander Zhao, we interrogated the crew, as you instructed. They confirmed Prince Zuko had the Avatar in custody, but let him escape."

Zuko bowed his head slightly.

_I'm screwed._

"Now remind me, _Prince Zuko_," Zhao said, stepping up and leaning forward, a satisfied smirk on his ugly mug, "how _exactly_ was your ship damaged?"

* * *

He'd been - unwillingly, albeit - returned to his chair, where he now stewed. _Why of all the people in the world, did it have to be Zhao that I ran into?_

The infernal man paced back and forth in front of Zuko, arms folded behind his back. Smug satisfaction and disdain radiated off the older man, making Zuko clench the arms of his seat in a slow - boiling fury.

"So," he finally said, stopping in front of the despondent ex - prince, "a twelve year-old boy bested you and your firebenders. You're more pathetic than I thought."

Anger surged through him. "I underestimated him _once_, but it will _not_ happen again!"

"No. It will not." His tone was arrogant, aggressive. "Because you won't have a second chance."

Zuko felt the blood drain from his face. _He can't do that._

"Commander Zhao," he interjected, petulant and pleading all once, "I've been hunting the Avatar for two years and I-"

"And you failed!" Flames burst from Zhao's fingertips as he emphatically gestured his disgust. He stalked forward, intimidating as another figure Zuko could recall, two and a half years ago. Zuko fought the urge to cower. "Capturing the Avatar is too important to leave in a _teenager's_ hands. He's _mine_ now."

Panic, frustration, outrage, and fear all surged through him, his mind barely registering what he was doing as he leapt, snarling with wordless rage at the Commander.

The guards snatched his arms, restraining him as Zhao just watched, obviously amused. Zuko hadn't ever hated anyone so much before in his entire life.

"Keep them here," Zhao commanded, exiting the room.

The guards gingerly released Zuko, leaving him panting angrily. He felt heady with rage, needed some outlet. So he gave the tea table a sharp kick, the feeling of the wood shattering beneath his blow oddly calming. For once, he didn't care.

"More tea, please," Iroh said, seeming half - amused.

_This isn't funny, Uncle,_ he seethed. _Zhao will destroy the monk - and all chances of me ever making it back home._

He didn't bother wondering why the image Avatar's youthful, naive little face burned in his mind, staring at him with wide, accusing eyes.

_Oh Zuzu. You're such a fool._

Azula's disappointed frown appeared in his mind.

With nothing else to do, still waiting on the repairs anyhow, Zuko flopped stiffly back down and folded his arms across his chest, closing his eyes and visualizing his sister, tracing every detail of her eleven year - old self in his mind until he could see her exactly as she had been the last time he saw her, standing on the dock proudly as she bid him goodbye.

And found himself wondering what exactly that look she'd had had meant.

* * *

"My search party is ready," Zhao declared, stepping through the curtains.

_Great. Here to gloat, are you?_

"Once I'm out to sea, my guards will escort you back to your ship, and you'll be free to go."

Lips curling with fury, Zuko looked down sharply, fury quickly returning. "Why? Are you worried I'm going to try and stop you?"

The Commander threw his head back and laughed. "You? Stop me? Impossible."

_Impossible._

_No. It's not impossible. It _can't _be._

He rose to his feet, slightly proud of the way his body naturally fell into a steady stance without having to consciously think about it. "Don't underestimate me, Zhao. I _will _capture the Avatar _before _you!"

"Prince Zuko," Uncle Iroh interjected sternly, finally intervening, "that's enough."

_Why are you taking his side?_

Zhao scoffed. "You can't compete with me. I have _hundreds_ of war ships under my command - and you?"

He could see Iroh cringe in anticipation, all three of them knowing where Zhao was headed.

"You're just a banished prince. No home, no allies. Your own_ father_ doesn't even want you."

Knowing it was coming didn't make it hurt any less. Zuko clenched his fists, a sharp pang shooting through him as though he'd been stabbed straight through the heart with the tiniest dagger.

"That's _not true._ Once I deliver the Avatar to my father he will welcome me home with honor, and restore my rightful place on the throne."

_You're so naive, Zuko. And since when did you even care about the throne? You just want Father's __acceptance._

"If your father really wanted you home," Zhao countered, looking oh - so - satisfied, "he would have let you return by now - Avatar, or no Avatar."

_No._

"But in his eyes," the commander continued, malicious glee shining in his own, "you are a failure, and a _disgrace to the Fire Nation."_

"That's not true," Zuko repeated hoarsely, drowning out his sister's voice as it whispered in agreement.

"You have the scar to prove it."

His blood ran cold. _The scar._

No one ever spoke about it, not to his face. Only in whispers they thought he wouldn't hear, late at night after a stop near a tavern.

_You will learn respect._

A wild, pained cry escaped him as he leapt forward aggressively.

"Maybe you'd like one to match!"

The words were out.

_Ooh, Zuko, you've done it now._

_I don't care._ He was sick of this, sick of being treated like scum, like an animal. Sub-human. The adrenaline pouring through him in his shock and rage quelled his fear, repressed the memories.

"Is that a challenge?" Zhao snorted, mockingly.

"An Agni Kai," Zuko breathed. "At sunset."

Zhao's brow quirked, then he straightened. "Very well. It's a shame your father won't be here to watch me humiliate you."

He turned, heading for the door. "I guess your Uncle will do."

"Zuko," Uncle cried in an almost - whisper, worry and panic clouding his tone. "Have you forgotten what happened the last time you dueled a master?"

Zuko just stared at the curtain, seeing a figure looming over him, face shadowed as the man raised his hand towards the prince's face.

"I will never forget," he muttered darkly.

_Never._

* * *

By the time sunset arrived, Zuko's nerves were so frayed Iroh almost wondered why he hadn't collapsed in a shaking heap of anticipation and terror yet. Not that he wanted him to. He simply wouldn't be surprised if he did.

Though Zuko had barely spoken since his bitter admittance - it had chilled his old uncle'd heart, the way he'd said those words, '_I will never forget'_ \- the retired general didn't need to ask, could see the same worry and fear that congealed in his own belly written plainly on his nephew's face.

_When will he learn not to be so rash?_

Although, Iroh couldn't honestly blame him for reacting the way he had, blowing up at Zhao. It was actually a testament of how far Zuko had come, that he'd merely challenged the Commander to a honorable duel, rather than come completely unglued and attack him head on. Zhao had been grievously out of line, bringing up the subject of Ozai and his ill - will for his eldest child. While Zuko was obviously well aware of his father's apathy towards him, of the evidence burnt into his skin, no one had ever brought it up so openly - let alone to his face. No one had dared.

So of course Zhao would be the first to pour salt into that wound. Zhao had always hated Zuko, though Iroh wasn't sure why - Zuko would never answer, only give Iroh an odd sort of suppressed half-smirk before trooping off to boss someone around or something.

While Zuko's skin might've healed, the emotional and psychological damage was as fresh as ever. Regardless, Zuko had come a long way over the last two and a half years. And while his denial and absolute refusal to come to terms with his father's true intentions was worrisome, it was not unexpected.

But regardless, the ex- prince still had a long way to before he could ever reintegrate with normal society, and Zuko already had a long - standing record of denying and hiding his problems - especially where Ozai was concerned.

_Ozai._

Just the thought of his name made Iroh want to spit in disgust. He'd never understand how the man could abuse his own child so coldly, and then cast him aside as though he were nothing. The former general closed his eyes and swallowed back the horror and guilt as the memory of his nephew's bruised, starved and burnt body lying exposed in the palace infirmary two years ago filled his vision.

Iroh knew he would never be able to forgive himself for that

He placed a hand on Zuko's shoulder, wishing for all the world he had some way to rid his nephew of the haunted expression he wore whenever something reminded him of the day he'd received his scar.

Zuko knelt, silently attempting to clear his mind in preparation, but Iroh could tell he was less - than - successful.

"Remember your firebending basics, Prince Zuko," Iroh half - whispered in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "They are your greatest weapons."

The ex - prince's expression hardened in determination, and for a moment Iroh was fondly reminded of a day twelve years ago, when his nephew wore the exact same expression as he attempted to scale the counter in the palace kitchen in pursuit of the cookies that had been set up not - so - safely on the countertop.

Zuko took a deep breath. "I refuse to let him win," he spat, rising and facing his opponent.

Satisfied that the boy had overcome the fears that were no - doubt plaguing him, Iroh stepped respectfully out of the arena, a surge of pride and worry mixing together and filling him as the two faced off, waiting for the signal to begin. Now as one of those moments, and really, Zuko had far too many of them, where he had to step back and let Zuko fight his own battles.

_At least he's fighting them now._

The gong sounded, and Zhao and Zuko eased into their beginning stances. Iroh could only watch and hope that Zuko would remember the lessons he'd been striving to drill into the boy' head while under pressure. After all, he was nothing but pressured right now.

Prince Zuko had next - to -nothing to lose, and everything to prove: whether he would admit it or not.

Zuko moved first, flames curling at his fingertips as he guided his hands forward in a controlled, powerful burst, followed by another, and another, and another after that as Zuko moved across his end of the arena. Zhao merely sidestepped each attack, diffusing the fifth blow with a powerful flare.

Frown deepening, Iroh noted how heavily Zuko was breathing - beginner or not, he should know to regulate his breath.

Greedily gulping air, Zuko surged back into action, whipping his leg up to create a ferocious wave.

_His firebending is a lot more powerful than usual._

Perhaps it was merely his hatred and rage towards the commander affecting it, but the ex - prince's flames burned noticeably bigger and brighter than they ever had before. And Iroh couldn't help but smile with pride as he noted how Zuko's flames were controlled and concentrated, despite the increase of firepower.

_It seems that my nephew performs best under pressure._

_Or perhaps, he's been holding himself back all along._

Iroh had wondered about it before, remembered those first days when being in the same room as an open flame had nearly sent him into hysterics. How he'd refused to bend so much as a spark for months.

As the commander continued his defense, Iroh worried at the elder firebender's ploy to exhaust Zuko before attacking full-on; Zhao continued merely to evade - but finally he struck, flames licking the ground as he burnt out Zuko's offense.

Iroh could see the teenager visibly panting. His old, weathered hands clenched into fists.

"Basics, Zuko. Break his root!"

Finally taking the offensive, Zhao punched forward before Zuko could rally another attack. Grunting audibly, Zuko diverted the blast to the ground, the force pushing him backwards.

And again.

And again.

_Come on, nephew._

Trepidation filled the old general as the commander slammed both fists together, the enormous burst of flame rushing forward and knocking Zuko backwards.

The ex - prince's body skidded across the ground with a pained cry, but he pushed himself back up on his elbows almost immediately, gasping as Zhao leapt at him.

With a savage battle - cry, Zhao landed in front of Zuko.

_No._

Nausea filled Iroh, building with horror at the scene he was witnessing. At Zhao pulling back one fist punching at his beloved nephew's face as he, General Iroh, Dragon of the West, once again sat on the sidelines and did _nothing._ Just like last time. Just as he had every time Zuko had truly needed him most. Every time it had really mattered.

The plume of flame illuminated his nephew's face, briefly revealing the ex - prince's fearful expression, his face lit up with terror.

This time, he could not look away.

Yet still, Iroh made no move to interfere.

* * *

Heat and blinding light rushed towards, towards his _face,_ and in that instant Zuko forgot all about the Avatar, his honor, and Zhao. There was only Zuko, on the ground, only the thirteen - year - old boy begging on his knees that deep down he knew he still was, would always be, beneath everything he'd forced himself to become over the last two miserable years of hell that had been his life. Only Zuko, and fire, and disappointment, and shame, and above all else the flames that blinded him with panic as the day everything had finally fallen apart repeated itself.

But as the flames rushed at him, he glimpsed Zhao's mocking, triumphant grin.

And that moment ended as Zuko choked back the memories. As he moved, almost instinctively, as he fought back.

_I refuse to let him win._

Pushing his body up with his hands, Zuko deflected the flames with a sweep of his legs as he spun, using the momentum to flip his body off the ground and landing in a low crouch, kicking Zhao's foot out from under him. The ex - prince planted his feet solidly as the commander tumbled to ground.

It wasn't exactly a smile, that triumphant expression that twisted his lips upward, but it was the closest he'd come in two and a half years.

He couldn't explain the feeling of confidence, of competence, that filled him, as he kicked forward, pushing his foot across the ground with ease, the flames that burst from his movement knocking the commander back. These were basic forms, beginners steps. And yet somehow they pushed Zhao into retreat with ease.

This feeling, it was _powerful._

Zuko was powerful.

Zhao grunted in frustration as Zuko struck again, stumbling and sloppily waving his arms in an attempt to block.

A harsh growl of effort escaped his lips as he clenched his teeth, kicked out with all his might. It was almost like a dream, the way he shifted from form to form, stance to stance, each movement stealing more of Zhao's balance, until with another mighty kick, Zuko's attack knocked the older bender on his back, rolling across the hard - packed dirt several times before stopping with a groan.

Racing forward, Zuko stood warily above his opponent, fists outstretched. _That was . . . almost too easy._

Groaning, Zhao was now the one pushing himself up on his elbows. There was a pause, as Zuko waited for him to strike back, as Zhao simply glared at him, eyes filled with hatred.

"Do it," Zhao commanded, menacingly. _Burn me_, his expression seemed to dare him.

_Can I?_

_Yes, _his mind whispered. _Remember all the things he said, remember all the things he's done. He deserves it._

_But . . . should I?_

He could remember all too clearly how it felt, how he'd felt. The searing heat, the all - consuming pain, the constant ache of _knowing_ that you were marred, damaged, scarred - for life.

With a cry of anger, pain and frustration, Zuko punched, flames leaving his fist, then straightened, staring down at his opponent with some strange mixture of mistrust and relief.

Smoke drifted from the blackened patch of earth beside Zhao's head.

"That's _it?_" Zhao stared up at him, tone incredulous but face disgusted. "Your father raised a _coward._"

For once, he didn't take the bait. The ever present rage didn't boil over. He just felt . . . just. Like he'd done the right thing, for the first time in his life. "Next time you get it my way," he warned, grimly, "I _promise_ I won't hold back."

And he, former Prince Zuko, turned away, back straight and head held high. It wasn't a happy moment, or one he'd cherish, but he felt oddly content. He'd stood up, fought back, and _won._ The normally incessant murmurings in his head were finally quiet. It wasn't happiness, but it was a sort of peace.

And then there was a strangled cry of rage and a whoosh of flames behind him - which vanished just as he turned.

Uncle Iroh had Zhao by the foot, tossing him backwards like a komodo rhino cub.

_He tried to attack me. I _spared_ him the shame, and he _attacked_ me!_

Growling with rage, Zuko leapt after the commander, only stopped by his uncle, who seized him by the shoulders. Shaking with rage, he allowed Uncle Iroh to hold him back.

_Why? Why can't anything just go right for once?_

"Prince Zuko, do not taint your victory." Uncle Iroh released him, turning to glance at Zhao. "So, this is how the great Commander Zhao acts in defeat." The retired general tsked, sounding displeased and slightly disdaining. "Disgraceful."

Zhao just stared back at Zuko and Iroh, unmoving.

"Even in exile," Uncle continued, "my nephew is more honorable than _you._"

Zuko started, all the anger draining out of him as he shifted his gaze to the old man who stood before him. _How can he say that? I've done nothing but abuse everyone around me! I sulk and scream and throw giant temper tantrums! How can he think that I'm honorable?_

His old uncle looked . . . proud.

Despite himself, Zuko felt his heart swell with a sort of happiness that he couldn't have described if he had tried.

"Thanks again for the tea," Iroh concluded, in a less severe tone. "It was delicious."

Uncle turned and walked away, and Zuko followed, feeling dubious yet somehow warmed by his uncle's words despite his disbelief.

"Did you really mean that, Uncle?" he asked softly after they left the arena, walking at his uncle's side.

"Of course! I told you ginseng tea is my favorite," returned the old man, sounding slyly amused.

Not sure what to say to that, he opted for nothing at all, walking quietly back to his ship, allowing himself to appreciate everything his uncle did for him.

Even if he would never find the words to tell him.

* * *

**Updated 03/01/15**


	8. Chapter 8: A Thousand Ways to Drown

Chapter 7: A Thousand Ways To Drown

* * *

Too late.

He'd missed them yet again.

The revolt had taken place at about midday, according to the few guards they'd managed to pull from the ocean. It was sunset now, the sky painted crimson by the sinking sun as it neared the horizon.

Zuko stood on the deck, alone with his thoughts. A sharp ocean breeze, just chill enough to nip, tugged gently at his clothes, unsettling the plies of coal scattered across the metal structure.

The dark water below drew his eyes; he'd always had an almost hypnotic fascination with the ocean. Most of the Fire Nation despised their opposing element - which he'd always thought was more than a little ridiculous, given how much time his people spent at the beaches.

Water was cold and unfeeling, the sailors would say: murky depths and unyielding ice hiding below the waves had led many a man to a watery grave, their bodies lost for eternity. The people of the water tribes were said to be savages, peasants whose hearts were as cold and barbaric as their element.

But Zuko knew that was ridiculous, all foolish lies that'd probably sprung up in the dead of night in a seedy tavern full of hot blooded, angry soldiers. Or perhaps it was propaganda, his forefathers inciting more enmity against the other nations. No, Zuko had seen the Southern Water Tribe himself: and while peasants they might be, they were not the heartless monsters his people made them out to be. One look at the flash of filial devotion, of maternal fear in fathomless, bright blue eyes, had told him as much. The people of the Water Tribes were more human than the Fire Nation sometimes seemed to the former prince.

_And they're only peasants because we made them destitute._

Of course, he'd never admit that.

Just like he'd never admit the way the water drew him, beckoning to him like a silent siren. How sometimes, when he looked down into the roiling waves, he would think what a blessed relief it might be to be enveloped, held safe in the ocean's embrace forever. Held like he'd always loved, when he'd sat in the tub or lay on the beach.

Blue.

A flash caught his eye, in the fading light.

Zuko knelt, eyes riveted on the polished stone that lay on the ground, unnoticed until now. The Water Tribe insignia was carved into the surface; a tattered blue ribbon dangled from the clasp.

Almost reverently, Zuko curled his fingers around it, standing and inspecting his find. A face flashed to his mind: dazzling blue eyes, tan skin, face still slightly rounded with the plumpness of youth, brunette hair done up in braids and odd loops.

The Avatar's waterbending companion.

Determination swelled in him as he lifted his gaze to the bloody red sky.

_I will find you._

* * *

"Okay Katara," the waterbender reassured herself, "shift your weight through the stances." The water fizzled, dropping to the ground. "Ugh!"

_Why can't I get it right?_

There was a low crunch of sand, gears grinding and the pounding of heavy footsteps from the bushes behind her. Fear jolted through her veins; she was alone and vulnerable, in the woods, at night.

_What was I thinking?_

Peering through the leaves, she gasped in horror. An empty metal steamer lay in the sand.

_No, no, no, no! I led them straight to us!_

She whirled, running forward, only to slam straight into a bulky bare - chested pirate. "Ah! No!"

The man grabbed her shoulders, wrenching her towards him.

"Let go of me," Katara cried. Desperation pounding through her veins, she curled her fingers, summoning her element to her fingertips.

For once, it obeyed her call, flying effortlessly through her fingertips and slamming into the pirates' head. Gasping in surprise, his hold loosened, and that was all the opening Katara needed. She was already running - straight into another waiting figure.

Zuko grabbed her wrists, stopping her escape. She looked up into his golden eyes, fear and anger - or hate, perhaps - shining in her deep blue ones. Zuko smiled menacingly. "I'll save you from the pirates."

* * *

"My mother's necklace!" Zuko's twisted smile froze; he looked..horrified? His fingers twitched. Why did that set him off?

"Where did you get that?" She demanded.

At the sound of her voice, he shook his head slightly; recovering. "I didn't steal it, if that's what you're wondering."

_What is it with him?_

Her only consolation was the sense of security he gave her. _His blasted honor complex is the only thing keeping me safe here._

* * *

Awkwardly, Zuko shoved his hand at her, palm up, offering . . . her necklace! She gasped, snatching it. "Wha- why?" She looked up at him, confused, and grateful. _Stop it_, she told herself. _He's the enemy. He obviously has some ulterior motive._

The prince's eyes were downcast, his customary scowl etched onto his face. But beneath it...guilt? Sorrow? "Sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't know." Katara's brow furrowed.

"Why would you care?" She didn't mean for it to come out so harshly. His eyes flashed, bitter and sad. He clenched his fist, running his thumb over a band encircling his ring finger. Glinting in the moonlight, tiny cut edges flashing light back up at her. A ring. She'd never noticed it before.

"I...know. To only have...something. Of someone." He seemed hesitant, as if he didn't know quite how to say what he meant. Zuko straightened, his scowl returning. "Why am I even . . . ?" He turned. "Never mind. Forget it."

"Zuko?" Katara said, catching his elbow. He flinched, pulling his arm away; but he glanced back at her anyway. Shyly, she withdrew her hand, looking up at him and clutching her mother's necklace tightly. "Thank you." He seemed to soften, his shoulders drooping slightly. After a moment, he nodded, almost imperceptibly; then he turned and walked away. Katara just stood there and stared at him, confused. He didn't look back.

* * *

It was times like these that Zuko wondered why anyone bothered living at all.

He had been training, pounding great balls of flames from his fists and his feet, as though he was fighting with an enemy that wasn't there at all.

Or at least, that's what it felt like to him.

Other people just called it practicing.

Other people weren't imaginative like him.

Other people didn't have to live in their minds, like him. Other people could express feelings other than angst and rage, unlike him. Other people had families who cared, friends who listened, people who would support them without looking as if they'd grown an extra head for stating their thoughts and feelings and desires aloud.

Not like him.

Now he was slumped, seated on the edge of the ship - he doesn't like to think of it as his, because that makes everything real, and he doesn't want it to belong to him, the boat or this life - legs hanging out over the ocean as if daring fate to knock him into the churning waters below.

He didn't think he'd really mind all that much if it did.

It always came back to this.

Zuko stared out over the sea, eyes fixed on nothing as he scanned the empty skies. After a long moment, his gaze dropped, eyes finding his hands, his wrists.

The scars were faint, barely noticeable unless you were really looking, but they were there. A thin white line across each wrist, and a small handprint, the evidence of fingers that had once wrapped themselves firmly around his limb burned into his skin.

Most people didn't notice these scars. Everyone stared at the marred side of his face, at what his father did to him, but they never saw what he did to himself first, the evidence of the misery and self - hatred he'd given a physical representation to. Granted, he never left them exposed if he could help it; he wore long sleeves constantly, and wristbands the few times he did not.

It wasn't a day he liked to remember, but then again there were precious few moments in his life that he ever did wish to recall. Even his brightest memories have been tainted by longing and betrayal.

And yet he often found himself pushed back to the very edge that he'd fallen over, right before he gave himself those cuts. And every time he did, he wondered whether it would be the time that no one was there to hold him down and stop him.

* * *

As Zuko walked up the ramp of his ship, eyes narrowed at the morning light that had managed to slip through the heavily overcast sky, he caught sight of Uncle Iroh seated on the deck, his precious Tsungi horn slung around him.

"Where have you been, Prince Zuko? You missed Music Night!"

_Good_, he thought tiredly. _I hate Music Night anyway._ Rubbing the sore spot on his head where the arrow had struck his mask, which was now tucked safely in his breastplate, the exiled prince grimaced, wondering whether the bruise would be visible. He hoped not. "I'm going to bed. No disturbances."

He didn't even try to muster up the snap he generally colored his tone with.

Continuing to trot tiredly towards the security of his own rooms, Zuko kept his eyes lidded as Iroh blew a low note on that blasted excuse for an instrument, the sound vibrating through Zuko's aching head.

_I hate tsungi horns._

* * *

His whole body felt heavy, as though all of his energy had been sucked out of him, leaving him empty and used - up. Sliding his door shut, he began methodically peeling off each piece of armor.

Head beginning to pound painfully, Zuko stripped down to his pants and crawled into bed, hands folded over his chest, staring up at the gigantic Fire Nation insignia emblazoned onto the gigantic wall hanging his uncle had insisted on replacing the tapestries Zuko and the Avatar had destroyed during their little scuffle over the monk's staff with. Never mind the fact that Zuko _didn't want any decorations in the first place._

Red and black, like blood and ash, stared back at him, calling images of fire, burnt flesh, lifeless coals, scattered ashes, and destruction to his mind.

_"If we knew each other back then, do you think we could have been friends too?"_

_No,_ he'd thought. _Of course not. Nobody would ever want to be my friend._

How could he, the child Avatar, who Zuko had terrorized and chased all over the world, ask him that? Why would the thought ever occur to him? Why would he ever even consider the possibility?

Why did he have to go and leave him with this strange disappointed ache in his chest?

Zuko rolled onto his side, looking away from his nation's emblem with a guilty pang.

And found himself wondering what it would be like, what he'd be like, if there hadn't ever been a war. What, really, was the purpose of it in the first place? Sharing the greatness of the Fire Nation with the rest of the world might sound nice in sheltered war meetings and schoolrooms far from the battle grounds where their ambitions devastated, but Zuko knew better. He was neither the naive child he'd been when he left his homeland, nor was he some deluded soldier, justifying the violence he'd seen glimpses and snippets of.

_I'm Fire Nation. Prince of the Fire Nation. The great - grandson of the man who slaughtered every last one of your people._

_You should hate me._

_So why don't you?_

Zuko felt sick, hands shaking as his blood pounded through his body. Fire Nation blood. Sozin's blood.

_Like poison in my veins._

Closing his eyes, Zuko willed the thought away, trying to ignore the sickening tingling in his veins.

_If there were no war, Lu Ten wouldn't be dead. _He'd_ be crown prince, Mom would still be here, and she would have protected me from Father._

A wave of bitterness swept over Zuko. If his stupid cousin hadn't insisted on joining the war effort and gotten himself killed, none of the horrors Zuko had lived through over the last six years wouldn't ever have occurred. But no, Lu Ten had gone off and died, and his passing had set off the chain reaction that had utterly ruined Zuko's life.

His hands fisted angrily into his sheets, gripping the cloth tightly as his brow furrowed in misery and silent rage.

_Why is nothing ever easy for me?_

Even after all these years, even with half a world between him and his father, Zuko still couldn't bring himself to open up - to _anyone_ \- about all the things his father had put him through, growing up. He almost felt as though acknowledging that they'd happened made them real, like if he kept his silence he could continue to pretend that none of it had ever occurred in the first place. That it had all been nothing more than a bad dream.

But other times, the weight of it felt as though it would crush him; if he just said something maybe it would be more bearable.

_You can't ever tell anyone about what your father does to you._

It always came back to those words. Ten years, and he still remembered them, clear as day.

Feeling sick, Zuko stumbled out of his bed, kicking the covers off his sweaty frame. He was hot, sticky, sweaty, sore, and had a nasty headache - none of which were conducive to acquiring the much - needed sleep he'd sought.

_What does Uncle do?_

His first thought was tea, because _wasn't that Uncle Iroh's first answer to everything?_ Zuko tugged irritably on his ponytail.

_Maybe a bath would help._

Sighing, the ex - prince yanked open his closet, grabbing clean undergarments and a fresh pair of pants. Wandering over to the washroom attached to his quarters, he stepped inside, closing the door.

_What I wouldn't give for a lock._

Pulling off his remaining clothes, quickly scrubbing his teeth, and rinsing his mouth out, he kept his eyes down, not wanting to glimpse his reflection in the sole mirror he possessed. Zuko never looked at his reflection if he could help it. _It's not like I need any more reminders of how hideous I am, _he thought bitterly.

He could remember just fine on his own.

Swallowing the bile that rose to his throat at the memories that played through his head, he flipped on the faucet, shaving his scalp as fast as he could without cutting himself. Zuko had yet to develop the tell - tale stubble of facial hair, which he was more than a little relieved at. Just one less thing to deal with - keeping his head shaved in his self - admittedly ridiculous looking ponytail was quite enough for him.

More than once, he'd considered just hacking off the damned thing - to hell with it - and just letting his hair grow back out properly, but besides the whole royals-don't-shave-their heads, his mother had always insisted he wasn't allowed to get it cut. She'd liked it long, girly as it may have seemed to him. So Zuko never did.

Wiping off his razor, the firebender set it aside and climbed into the tub, warming the water until it steamed pleasantly. Much as he hated to admit it, he rather liked some of the more . . . domestic techniques Uncle insisted on showing to him.

Letting out a soft moan as his tensed muscles finally began to relax - no one was around to hear anyway - he leaned back, pulling the band that held his hair up out and tossing it onto the counter.

Eyes drifting shut, Zuko tried to keep himself mindless, his still - present unease over his earlier thoughts niggling at him, tired as he was.

_Damned monk._

Folding his hands across his stomach, he bent his knees, sliding further into the water.

_Water._

He liked it. Always had. As much as he pretended he didn't, that it was inferior. The way it felt like it was hugging you, holding you. It felt safe and comforting. Hugs and security. Two things he couldn't trust anyone enough to ask for.

Whenever Zuko heard the soldiers muttering under their breaths of their fear of drowning, he wanted to laugh. He'd prefer to drown, honestly, compared to most other methods of kicking the bucket.

Flames filled his vision at the thought, and Zuko sat up abruptly, breath shallow as he splashed water on his face in a panicked attempt to calm his suddenly speeding heartbeat, and ease the phantom pain that throbbed across his eye.

He knew it was stupid to be afraid of his own element, but it was a fear he'd been unable to conquer for two years - and he didn't see it changing anytime soon.

He'd be lying if he said that he'd never wished he wasn't a firebender: but then again, Zuko lied to himself all the time, so what did it matter anyway?

He stared down at his submerged lower half, chest constricting with that familiar, pained ache.

_I will find a way,_ he thought. _Just, maybe not now._

What was one more lie, after all?

* * *

The door creaked open, and a heavy footstep told him exactly who had trespassed into his quarters. He didn't budge, annoyance coloring his tone as he continued to stare at the wall.

"For the last time, I'm not playing the tsungi horn!"

"No, it's about our plans," Uncle Iroh reassured him, a note of worry in his voice. "There's a bit of a problem." Another pair of boots clanked through the doorway, the sharp clank of armor against metal echoing eerily through the room.

"I'm taking your crew."

The announcement completely diverted Zuko's attention, the ex - prince whirling in shock. "What?!" _Admiral Monkeyface. _His good eye narrowed.

"I've recruited them," the Admiral interjected smugly, "for a little expedition to the North Pole."

Disbelief coursing through him, Zuko's gaze snapped to the shorter man."Uncle? Is that true?"

"I'm afraid so. They're taking everyone . . . even the cook!"

Both Zhao and Zuko ignored Iroh's pained sniffle as he folded his arm over his head in woe. Zhao smirked at the teenager. "Sorry you won't be there to watch me capture the Avatar. But I can't have you getting in my way again."

Vision sparking, Zuko charged at the Admiral, fury pumping through him - only to be caught, yet again, by his uncle. "No!"

Blood boiling, Zuko glared indignantly after the elder man, mutinous thoughts about how much he'd like to wipe the arrogant cod-salmon's face in komodo-rhino dung filling his mind, and allowed Iroh to hold him as Zhao turned a disdainful eye on Zuko's room_. _Immediately, he felt incredibly self conscious.

_Stop it. It's not like you were planning on living on this spirits - be - damned tub a second longer than you had to._

Musing, his eyes raked over the Admiral. Overly polished armor and excessively groomed facial hair. _Admiral Monkeyface is actually a pretty accurate nickname . . ._

And then Zuko's heart dropped through his stomach, thoroughly diverting him from his inner monologue before it could go into every detail of just how remarkably much Zhao and primate resembled one another, as the Admiral stiffened, before taking a step forward and lifting one of Zuko's dao blades from it's place above the makeshift mantle-place.

_My Blue Spirit blades._

"I didn't know you were skilled with broadswords, Prince Zuko," Zhao purred, taking an experimental swing.

Calm. Questioning. Smug.

_Oh spirits. He knows._

Gut clenching with the effort it took not to snatch his steel out of Zhao's unworthy fingers, Zuko waved his hand in what he hoped appeared a dismissive fashion.

"I'm not. They're antiques. Just decorative."

Damned if that didn't sound weak - even to him. For the billionth - but certainly not last - time, he desperately wished he were half as proficient a liar as Azula.

Zhao cocked his head. "Have you heard of the Blue Spirit, General Iroh?"

_Yep. I'm dead._

"Just rumors," Uncle said, shrugging. "I don't think he is real."

"He's real, alright," Zhao breathed, handing Iroh the blade. "He's a _criminal,_ and an _enemy of the Fire Nation,_" he continued, carefully stressing his choice words. Each one hit Zuko like a blow to the stomach, leaving him feeling winded despite himself. "But I have a feeling justice will catch up with him soon."

He turned, exiting Zuko's room.

"General Iroh, the offer to join my mission still stands - if you change your mind."

And like that, he was gone.

* * *

**Thanks go to:**

**avatarspiriaangkorra**

**Malevolent Dark Reflection**

**KATAANG32**

**WeAreAllBaka**

**Phantom Ice**

**TaikanChan**

**WriterGirl7673**

**For all the wonderful reviews! I can't stress how much I appreciate you guys taking a moment to leave your thoughts.**

**So, to the point: I'm glossing over what I can of the canon - I don't like to be stuck rehashing so much, so I'm just hitting on a couple scenes and hopefully moving forward faster.**

**Tell me how I did?**

**Thanks, and review!**

**~EvilAngel**

****Update: 03/02/15**

**Yeah, I'm editing. Mostly just adding stuff together. Don't mind me.**


	9. Chapter 9: The Dead of Night

Chapter 8: The Dead of Night

* * *

_Pain_. It was all he could feel, distant screaming all he could hear; Zuko didn't even realize he'd been falling until his body hit the water, blessed cool enveloping him and choking him - at which point he realized the screams had been coming from _him._

Drifting aimlessly, somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear laughter - all that thought about how he'd rather be taken by the sea, and here he was, quietly floating away. If he'd had enough of his senses together, perhaps he might've chuckled outright, however mirthless it might be. But he didn't, so he merely allowed his heavy lids to drift shut, and the waves to carry him where they willed. It was almost a relief, the pain numbing his pride and allowing him, for these fleeting moments, to just give up. No more Avatar - chasing, no more thoughts of the islands he still called home, no more nightmares about returning to his childhood prison, locked away in the depths of a haunted palace. No more drive to propel himself onward.

Dimly, he became aware of someone calling - _calling my name, _he realized with a start. The voice was muffled, as though coming from far away, or from behind a glass wall, but even in his deadened state he could tell it was getting closer.

Seconds, or perhaps centuries later, hands seized his upper arms, pulling him from the cool embrace. Moaning, Zuko cracked his good eye open. Uncle Iroh was clutching him, tears streaming down the weathered old man's face as he frantically inspected Zuko's half - numbed body for any more serious injuries.

"Uncle," Zuko rasped, choking with the effort it took to form that one simple word.

"Oh, nephew," Iroh breathed, hugging the teen's shivering frame even tighter. "You scared your poor old uncle half to death!"

"It . . . was . . . pirates," Zuko managed. "From . . . before." _Why does it hurt so much to talk?_

Lifting his head, Zuko blinked, hazily taking in the scene before him. He and his uncle were sprawled by the edge of the water, the current below them sweeping scalding - hot pieces of debris away. It looked as though he'd floated about fifty yards downstream from where his ship had been docked mere minutes before, if the half-sunk wreckage - still aflame, in some places - was any indication.

Grimacing, the ex - prince forced himself to his feet, Uncle following suit, the former gingerly prodding his more serious aches. _Nothing life - threatening. Maybe some cracked ribs, if that._

As he glanced at the old man, Zuko knew as his uncle blinked back tears that he was trying to put on a brave face for him.

"You are very lucky, nephew, to have come out of that explosion with so few and such superficial injuries. Such a blast, and the falling debris, could easily have killed or crippled you."

_Right. Lucky._

At that moment, he had neither the heart nor the energy to point out the fact that luck was a commodity he tended to have none of.

"Nonetheless, you should still find someone to check you up, to be safe. Internal injuries can be far more dangerous, than those we suffer outwardly, especially if they go undetected."

Clearing his throat painfully, Zuko took the arm Uncle proffered him, for once accepting the support without protest.

"We . . . should find . . . shelter."

Iroh nodded. "It would be wise to find somewhere to lay low until we are certain your would - be assassins have left the area. And it seems we have much to discuss during that time. Our plans are . . . no longer workable."

Zuko froze. _Oh no._

_We've just lost our only method of transportation._

Mentally choking, he could've slapped himself for not realizing it immediately.

_Now I have no chance at all of capturing the Avatar before Zhao gets to him._

He could almost see the glittering shores and red rooftops of the land he still called home burning up in the bay with the remains of the ship he'd lived aboard for the last few years. Zuko had always hated it - the metal walls a constant reminder of how far he'd fallen from his father's grace - but now even the small comfort and security he'd had in a place to call his own, to retreat to at the end of the day, was gone too: and it cut deeper than he'd ever imagined.

_Gone, gone, gone._

Gone like Lu Ten's letter's and Ursa's dress and the portraits of his family and the mask he'd found hidden away among his mother's possessions so many years ago.

A keen sense of loss overwhelmed him, only to be swallowed a moment later by blazing fury. _Someone ordered those pirates to attack me. They wouldn't have risked the consequences if the attempt hadn't succeeded just to exact petty revenge. So the question is, who wants me dead so badly, and either is too big a coward to face me themselves, or can't afford to get caught going after me?_

The answer came to the ex - prince easily enough: the one person who fit both of his criteria. Who'd disgracefully struck at him while his back was turned, and who couldn't risk the Fire Lord's wrath for the assassination of a member - however distanced - of the royal family.

_Zhao._

Frowning with disgust, he found his thoughts returning to the grinning white and blue mask he'd treasured for so long. It had belonged to her, and had become a part of him. A way for him to release all his inhibitions and fears, and just _be_. In many ways, the Blue Spirit was the true Zuko, the one he couldn't afford to be, was afraid to be in the light of day, with the burn on his face and the markings of royalty exposed to the sun and up on display for anyone to see.

Really, it was a wonder no one had attempted to assassinate him before.

Zuko shook Uncle away, turning back towards the blazing waters. "Can you . . . give me . . . a moment?"

With obvious reluctance, Iroh nodded. "Meet me by the cluster of bushes on the other side of the hill in five minutes?"

Zuko dipped his head, letting out a breath as the old man trudged away, leaving Zuko completely alone. Once he was sure the old man was no longer watching, the teen headed towards the wreckage of his ship, peering down into the murky waters. It was a long shot, but . . .

_There._

A flash of blue and white, caught against a root protruding away from the earth, water having long eroded away the soil that once surrounded it. Hardly able to believe his fortune, he carefully tucked his find in his robe as though it was the most precious of treasures.

And in a way, perhaps it was.

* * *

"I'm devastated to hear about Prince Zuko," Zhao breathed, not sounding the least bit upset at all to Iroh's wizened ears. "Just . . . devastated."

_Apparently, he either thinks I am a fool, or that I am suffering from memory loss._ The Admiral had tried to kill Zuko himself just a few months ago, after losing their Agni Kai. And was that a smirk he was failing to hide behind his teacup? Blood boiling, the former general worked to mask his fury behind his pretense of grief. "The Fire Lord will not be pleased when he learns who was responsible."

"You know who was behind the attack?"

"Yes - pirates," Iroh growled, clenching his fist in very real anger. "We had a run - in with them awhile back. They wanted revenge."

_Definitely a smirk._ Zhao looked like a predator who'd just terminated his prey. Triumphant.

_Not yet, Zhao. Just you wait._

The Admiral took a sip of tea, before continuing. "So, have you reconsidered my offer?"

"Yes, I accept. It will be an honor to serve as your general." Lifting his cup Iroh's gaze hardened. "To the Fire Nation!"

"To victory!"

And Iroh smiled behind his cup. _But whose victory it will be, we shall see yet._

* * *

"Our plan is working perfectly. Zhao doesn't suspect a thing."

"You didn't have to do this."

Iroh smiled at the thanks in Zuko's raspy voice - the prince had never been any good at masking his emotions with anything besides anger. "No nephew of mine is going to stow away on a ship without some backup."

"Thank you, Uncle."

He could almost feel the boy - nearly a man, now, though Iroh tended to forget - beside him swell with gratitude. _I will not abandon you again, Zuko._

Somewhere nearby, a door swung open. "Someone's coming. Stay hidden until we get to the North Pole, and the Avatar will be yours." Much as he hated to encourage his nephew's obsessive hunt for the world's last hope, Zuko needed the encouragement right now, and after all the times he'd failed to support his brother's son, Iroh was determined not to let another opportunity slip by.

Zuko gave a wordless nod, and they walked away, each headed in a different direction, parting ways for the remainder of the voyage into the icy northern waters.

* * *

Focused on his task, Zuko carefully coiled a length of rope. _A job done hastily and incorrectly is worse than one done not at all, _echoed in the back of his mind. For once, he didn't mind the quiet little voice. If he was to succeed, he'd need it. The consequences, should he fail, were far more dire than they'd ever been before.

This was his last chance. After the North Pole, he no longer had the funds or transportation to continue his mission: and the Avatar would be master of another element. If Zuko didn't catch him tonight, he would have to kiss his homeland goodbye.

The door behind him swung open quietly. "If you're fishing for an octopus, my nephew, you need a tightly woven net, or he will squeeze through the tiniest hole and escape."

Maybe he didn't need quite so much advice after all. He had to _focus,_ and how the hell was he supposed to accomplish that if Uncle kept distracting him with ridiculously confusing sayings? "I don't need your wisdom right now, Uncle."

He didn't bother with the front of insults that he'd shielded himself with for the past few years. Because if he failed, he might never even live to escape the icy tundra of the North. This might be the last time his uncle would see him alive. _And Uncle doesn't deserve that. Not now._

Not ever, but it was too late for that either way. The damage was done.

_At least I will have told him goodbye._

He knew, somehow, that it was something that even Uncle's precious son had failed to give the old man.

"I'm sorry," Uncle said, and Zuko knew that he understood the risks the ex - prince was taking from the way his voice cracked, as though he were holding back tears. "I just nag you, because, well . . . " here his voice actually broke, and so did Zuko's bleeding heart.

"Uncle, you don't have to say it."

"I think of you as my own."

Somehow, those words lifted him up a little. Facing the old man, the only person in the whole world who loved him, he knew could not push him away just now. "I know, Uncle. We'll meet again." The former general wrapped his arms around Zuko's thin frame, and Zuko returned the embrace, if only for a moment. "After I have the Avatar."

_You deserve so much better than me. _

Not for the first time, Zuko wished he could've traded places with his cousin. Zuko was a failure: a bitter, weak, undeserving child who couldn't seem to accomplish the simplest of tasks without botching it up somehow. Lu Ten would never have made his mistakes, never have abused the people around him the way he had.

And as deeply as it cut, Zuko knew he'd never compare with his uncle's son. And felt guilty for thinking that Iroh wouldn't have been so dedicated to looking after him if Lu Ten hadn't been killed.

But after all, as Azula had once pointed out, if their cousin hadn't died, Uncle wouldn't have needed a replacement.

Face crumpling with the realization, Zuko turned away, climbed onto the boat, and began lowering the vessel onto the water.

"Remember your breath of fire. It could save your life out there!"

"I will," the ex - prince replied softly.

"And put your hood up! Keep your ears warm!"

Exasperation pushed away the guilt. "I'll be fine!"

And he knew, even as he paddled away and never once looked back, that his Uncle watched him until the little canoe was long out of sight.

* * *

Zuko huddled on a small island of ice, his canoe pulled up on the solid block behind him, hoping his white clothes and the dark would conceal him from the watchguards patrolling along the top of the impressive white wall that rose from the frigid water. The barking of turtle seals caught his attention, and he turned, spotting them resting by a hole in the ice. Curious, he watched as one plunged headfirst into the opening, and, glancing up again at the Northern Water Tribe's outer wall, approached the arctic creatures.

"Where are they going?" he murmured aloud, peering down into the icy water. "They're coming up for air somewhere . . . "

Frowning in determination, Zuko pulled down the cloth that'd covered his mouth, took a deep breath, and dived in. The icy water bit at his skin, permeating his thick white suit as though it were nothing and freezing him to the bone, but he pushed forward, allowing the overpowering numbness to dull the cold pain. When he finally emerged at an air pocket, collapsing on the ice, barking turtle seals greeting his relieved ears as he huddled in on himself, releasing several short, hot bursts of flame from his mouth. They were hardly enough, but somehow or another they helped all the same. Standing, Zuko snarled at the creatures.

"Be quiet!"

Surprisingly enough, they listened. Pushing his way past, Zuko crawled through another opening in the ice and up into another onslaught of rushing water. At points he had to fight the current, climbing up bits of ice as water poured downward on him, pushing at him. At last, he emerged from the icy drain, kicking his way to the surface of the water, to find himself in an air pocket barely large enough for him to greedily gulp the air without brushing the frozen earth overhead. Steadying his breaths, he took another deep breath and re-submerged, eyes straining to see through the dark water.

The water swirled, pulling down another pathway, and without hesitation, Zuko followed it, his strokes aided by the push of gravity. Another short tunnel, and then he could see light overhead, glowing steadily like a beacon of life. Freezing and short on oxygen, the ex - prince kicked upwards, towards freedom - only for his hands to slam helplessly against a thick, frozen barrier.

he thumped against it, looking for a weakness, some way to break through, but his lungs were bursting and his chest constricted. Panic crept up in him - he was trapped below a layer of ice in polar waters.

Uncle would be devastated.

No one would ever find his body.

And while he didn't necessarily mind that, he owed it to the old man to fight.

_Remember your breath of fire._

While he couldn't exactly firebend underwater, he could still manipulate his element to an extent.

_Fire melts ice._

Pressing his hands against the barrier, they pulsed with heat, the ice around them glowing red and turning to slush beneath his palms, before it gave way and Zuko emerged, gasping triumphantly. Grasping the ice, he panted for a few moments, then hauled his exhausted, numbed body from the water.

It looked like he was in some sort of vent tunnel, from what he could tell. Immaculately carved ice buildings surrounded his hideout, and Zuko sighed in relief.

He'd done it.

He had made it into the North Pole.

* * *

"Well, aren't you a big girl now?"

He wasn't sure why he taunted her, only that he was at the end of his rope and she was in his way.

The waterbender turned, horror on her face as she whispered in disbelief. "No."

His resolve strengthened. "Yes. Hand him over and I won't have to hurt you."

From the corner of his eye, he saw another girl with stark white hair run out of the oasis. _I'll have to make this fast._ The girl before him drew her hands up in a defensive stance, and Zuko attacked. A few blows exchanged, and Zuko was blasted back by a powerful stream, landing flat on the ground.

He'd never actually dueled her before, but it was obvious she'd gotten better since the last time he saw her.

_Prodigy._

The word echoed in his ears like a taunt. But no matter. She might have talent, but he had experience, and determination. Zuko pushed himself up.

"I see you've learned a new trick, But I didn't come this far to lose to _you_."

And he was on the offensive again. They battled back and forth for a time, the waterbender deflecting his blows and whipping at him while he kicked and punched and spun. Blasting him backwards with a powerful jet, Zuko flailed, nearly falling as ice formed around his feet and the walls of water began to rise around him, encasing him in a frozen bubble. Zuko hissed as he splayed his hands, heat rising around him just as when he was entrapped underneath the city hardly more than a few minutes ago. His eyes narrow at the blurred visage of his opponent. "You little peasant. You've found a master, haven't you?"

His prison shattered as he leapt forward, flames blasting from his fists and feet as he attempted to dodge the girl, his fingers nearly curling around the monk's collar, before she yanked him back. The Avatar remained unmoved, eyes and arrow tattoos glowing eerily, as he hurtled backward, slamming against the icy wall and a wave of water slamming around him, freezing him in place, and the last thing he saw before his head drooped despondently was the triumphant waterbender standing below him.

A few moments later, the first rays of dawn shone down on him, and energy flowed through his numbed, half - frozen veins. Hissing with the effort it took to breathe deeply, he pushed heat into the air around him, jaw set as it gave way and he slipped to the ground.

She'd turned her back.

Growling with exertion, he blasted at her. She spun, weaving up a defense, but she was too late and the impact knocked her into a thick wooden pole, her lids drifting shut.

Zuko snatched the Avatar - still in his trance - and stared down at her.

"You rise with the moon," he said, almost reverently. "I rise with the sun."

And then he was running, airbending monk slung across his shoulders piggy - back style, as the cold albedineity of the snow - covered wasteland swallowed him up.

* * *

**Hey!**

**I'm sorry this chapter took so long; motivation is hard to come by for this part of the story. But here we are. The North Pole, and company. :)**


	10. Chapter 10: Of Feeling Lost

Chapter 9: Of Feeling Lost

* * *

"I finally have you, but I can't get you home because of this blizzard." He scoffed, a surge of disgust swelling in his veins as he rose, facing the whirling white fury outside. "There's always something. Not that you would understand."

No answer, but then again, Zuko wasn't really expecting one. Unsure why he spoke, but needing to let some of the tension off his chest, he pushed away that little voice and stared into oblivion.

Who better to open up to than someone who could only listen? Who wouldn't talk back, or even remember the confession taking place in the first place?

So he continued, bitterness replacing the disgust. "You're like my sister. Everything always . . . came easy to her. She's a firebending prodigy, and everyone adores her."

Snippets of memories flashed through his vision, interrupting the mindless whiteness of the outside world. Azula firebending at three; Father ignoring him and praising her; Azula picking him up after their father had backhanded him, the time she'd broken his leg and just stood over him, smirking; that unidentifiable expression on her perfect face as he'd sailed away . . .

"My father says she was born lucky. He says I was lucky to be born."

That little untainted piece of him, the one smudge of innocence he'd managed to salvage, acknowledged, for the first time, exactly how deeply those words had cut him.

And for the first time, he let it.

_How could a father say such a thing to his own son?_

Briefly, he wondered if this was what growing up felt like.

"I don't need luck, though. I don't want it. I've always had to struggle and fight and that's made me strong. It's made me who I am."

_Strong, _Azula laughed. _Look at you, Zuzu. Can't even lie to yourself. __It's no wonder you still can't sleep at night. _Was it a bad sign, that he no longer cared enough to bite back a retort at his own subconscious?

The Avatar took a deep breath. Zuko sighed. "Guess we'll be here awhile."

* * *

A blur. An ethereal blur of moonlight and ice, of warriors and destruction. Numb inside and out, Zuko wandered, feet instinctively carrying him from shadow to shadow, avoiding the blue - clad warriors that prowled the streets, searching for any Fire Nation survivors.

_You're the Blue Spirit: __an enemy of the Fire Nation! You freed the Avatar!_

_I had no choice,_ he'd spat. Which was a lie, of sorts. There were always choices. _Just not always acceptable ones._

_But why?_ Zhao had been right. Zuko _could've _accepted defeat, could have given it up and vanished, moved on, started over in some remote Earth Kingdom village where no one would know him or what he was.

Accusing grey eyes flashed before his eyes, all the answer the ex - prince would ever need.

_But Zhao would never have understood that._

After all, it _was _technically treason, on both the motive and the method counts.

_Then again, Zhao never had a conscience._

As he wandered, he pondered his strange and distracting concern for the child Avatar's well - being. _I've been sabotaging myself. _

And yet, even without knowing of Zuko's . . . weakness for him, the boy had rescued him. The teen knew full well, had the choice been up to either of the Southern Water Tribe siblings, he'd have never woken up, would have frozen to death under a pile of ice miles away from civilization.

_See,_ that little voice whispered. _You were right to protect him. He helped you back, even if it was only to even the score._

_Is that what friends do?_

Zuko didn't have an answer.

Eventually, Zuko stumbled upon his uncle, and without a word, he helped the old man push the makeshift raft he'd somehow acquired out to sea, before sitting down and staring mindlessly at the wreckage and swollen blue bodies drifting past in the early morning light.

All of them dead because of Zhao's arrogance.

Zuko felt sick.

"I'm surprised, Prince Zuko," Uncle began, tentatively. "Surprised that you are not at this moment trying to capture the Avatar."

The teen blinked. Didn't the old man know they were at the end of the rope? Zuko was out of line and out of time, and currently didn't have a crumb to his name. Realizing his uncle had thought he'd still pursue the monk so long as he was within the city, Zuko shrugged mentally. _What does it matter, anyway?_

"I'm tired," he finally replied.

"Then you should rest. A man needs his rest."

Lying down flat on his back, Zuko stared blankly at up at the empty grey clouds, pushing away the images of Zhao refusing his hand and being sucked under, and of a sea full of faceless red - clad corpses that filled his vision whenever he dared allow his lids to drift shut.

* * *

Weeks. Weeks and weeks of floating helplessly, snatching fish from the waves. Of silence and desperately watching for any sign of land. Of dehydration and circling buzzard - hawks.

Uncle was mumbling something about their travails from where he sprawled on the massage table he'd pestered Zuko into accompanying him to, but the ex - prince was hardly in the mood for listening. Of course, he was hardly ever in that mood, but it was a moot point. Today, of all days, he was allowed to be sulky.

Iroh sighed and approached, taking a seat beside Zuko. "I see. It's the anniversary, isn't it?"

_Pity._

Zuko didn't need pity. But he did need . . . something. Although he wasn't sure what. And besides, he was trying to break his habit of sniping at everyone - at least when they didn't deserve a tongue lashing. So he took a breath. _But where to begin?_

"Three years ago today, I was banished. I lost it all." He glared upwards. "I want it back. I want the Avatar."

_But what do you want him for? _

"I want my honor, my throne."

_That's a good start,_ Azula purred. _Mostly baloney, but a start. Now let's try for some honesty._

He bit his tongue, before letting out the words he'd never allowed himself to acknowledge before. "I want my father not to think I am worthless."

There it was. Out in the open.

Uncle sputtered, flummoxed. "I'm sure he doesn't. Why would he banish you if he didn't care?" Hands curling into fists, Zuko leapt to his feet and strode away, successfully biting back the angry retort that had boiled on the tip of his tongue. _And he wonders why I've never wanted to talk to him._

* * *

"Did you hear me? You should be happy. Excited. Grateful. I just gave you great news."

_Azula._ The nagging voice in his head, standing before him in the flesh. Just when he'd given up all hope. Zuko had almost thought he was hallucinating, at first, but a few moments in her company convinced him otherwise. No one, not even his subconscious, could impersonate his sister so perfectly.

That's what she was, after all. Perfect.

Zuko mused, stunned, not really listening as Uncle intervened and Azula snapped at him. She'd always disliked the old man. "Father regrets?" He mumbled at last, half in disbelief, half in terror. "He . . . wants me back?" Mind reeling as he stared sightlessly out the window, he shivered slightly, remembering slaps to his face and kicks to his ribs and a fistful of fire . . .

"I can see you need time to take this in. I'll come to call on you tomorrow. Good evening."

Azula strode away, but her voice remained.

_Isn't this what you wanted ten minutes ago?_

Zuko swallowed.

_Father is willing to forgive your cowardice, your shameful behavior, your _treason,_ and you dare question his intentions? You dare even consider disobeying your Fire Lord's summons? You truly are a disgrace to his name._

* * *

"We're going home! After three long years, it's unbelievable!"

"It _is_ unbelievable. I have never known my brother to regret anything."

_What?_

Jerked from the relieved anticipation that he'd managed to push himself into - after a huge, self-imposed guilt trip and imagining the welcoming sight of the glowing white shores of the Fire Nation - Zuko stared at his uncle, thrown by the old man's pessimistic attitude. _Doesn't he want to go home? Isn't he tired of chasing me around on my doomed quest and putting up with my insults and ingratitude? Wasn't he the one who insisted my father didn't despise me just this morning? _"Did you listen to Azula? Father's realized how important family is to him! He cares about me!"

_Why does it sound like I'm trying to convince myself?_

"I care about you!" Uncle snapped, spreading his arms pleadingly. Zuko flinched at his harsh tone. "And if Ozai wants you back, well, I think it may not be for the reasons you imagine."

Frustrated and hurt, Zuko turned away. _If he won't speak plainly, then why bother at all? He can't possibly expect me to understand whatever it is he's inferring. _"You don't know how my father feels about me. You don't know anything!"

"Zuko, I only meant that in our family, things are not always what they seem."

Zuko's temper flared, whirling angrily as his wounded pride outweighed his conviction to control his tongue. "I think you are exactly what you seem! A lazy, mistrustful, shallow old man who's always been jealous of his brother!"

He stormed away before he could catch Iroh's expression, the bitter tang of guilt already filling his mouth and pooling in his gut.

* * *

"You lied to me!"

He should've remembered how much she lied. Azula lied like she breathed - naturally, reflexively, and constantly. But it didn't quell the sting of her betrayal. She'd made him hope - and that hurt most of all.

The princess laughed, turning and striding up the ramp with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "Like I've never done that before."

Zuko roared with anger, tossing the guards out of his way and leaping after her, half - blinded by rage.

He should have known by now never to allow himself to hope. The sight of her standing with her back to him, as though he were no threat at all, only enraged him further, his hands curling into fists and jets of flame springing to life. He charged. She blocked. Zuko could hardly think, his attacks clumsy and blinding anger fueled more by her damned competence. She was perfect, so _damned perfect,_ and in that moment he'd never hated her more for it.

Rushing at her, Azula grasped his arm and threw him backward, his head spinning and breathing harsh. A feral grin split her lips, and this, this was the Azula he knew from his childhood. She was the predator, and he was the prey. Cat and mouse - and his sister did so love to play with her food.

"You know," she began, a malicious gleam in her honey - colored eyes, "Father blames Uncle for the loss of the North Pole. And he considers _you_ a miserable failure for not finding the Avatar! Why would he want you back home, except to lock you up where you can no longer embarrass him?"

Something deep inside him knew the reason it hurt so much was because it was the truth.

Calling flames to his hands again, he leapt forward once more, kicking a blast of flame at her. They flurried, Azula managing to outmaneuver him again and again, triumphantly clawing his forehead. Screaming with rage, he slashed his darts of flame at her, his forward offensive driving her up the stairway, though a dim part of his mind knew he only advanced because she allowed him to. Suddenly, she snatched his wrist, all motion ceasing instantly.

Azula's grin widened in triumph, and Zuko inhaled with alarm, when quick as lightning she struck, knocking him down the stairway with a blast of blue flame. He tumbled, slamming his head and shoulders on the metal steps before crashing to the deck. Vision blurred, he watched dazedly as she made circular scooping motions with each hand, gathering blue crackles of energy from the air around her, and directed them right at him - when Uncle Iroh snatched her wrist. As he struggled to regain his senses, Iroh rushed towards him, the old man lifting him to his feet and pulling him along until Zuko remembered how to run.

_She tried to shoot me - with lightning, _he realized distantly.

_She tried to kill me._

He would always remember this moment, he knew, as the moment he realized his baby sister was well beyond his reach. Stumbling through the dust, he allowed Uncle to lead him, tearing through the forest in a blind panic. Unsure how long or far they traveled, Zuko , they finally collapsed by a riverbed.

"I think we're safe here," Uncle panted. The ex - prince made no response, only calmed his breath, heart still pounding wildly in his chest.

_My father really does hate me. My sister tried to kill me._

Zuko's fingers curled around his knife, lifting it before him and inspecting it with a emotionless distance he didn't think he could have achieved, unwillingly recalling the last time he'd used the blade: the day he'd first attempted suicide. He still wasn't sure he wouldn't have been better off if he'd succeeded. Now more than ever.

Bowing his head slightly, Zuko grasped his ponytail, slicing the blade through what remained of his hair, then passed it wordlessly to Iroh, who severed his own topknot. The shorn locks were tossed into the water, and all Zuko thought, in a moment of odd satisfaction, was _it's about damn time._

* * *

Iroh watched his nephew carefully as they prepared to leave, standing outside among hundreds of buzzing fireflies. He seemed tense and sullen, which was not unusual for Zuko, especially considering the stress he'd been under over the last few days.

"Thank you for the duck," he said, turning to their hosts. "It was excellent." Hopefully one cheery, attention loving old man would distract from his nephew's depression and general lack of manners.

"You're welcome," Song's mother replied easily. "It brings me pleasure to see someone eat my cooking with such . . . gusto."

A contented grin spreading across his face, Iroh patted his belly matter - of - factly. "Much practice." From the corner of his eye, he saw Zuko turn to leave. "Junior! Where are your manners? You need to thank these nice people."

After a moment, the boy turned and bowed. "Thank you."

_Well, it's good to see he at least remembers some of the etiquette Ursa tried so hard to teach him._

"I know you don't think there's any hope left in the world," Song said, stepping forward, "but there is hope. The Avatar has returned!"

Iroh winced. _Just about the last thing he needs to hear._

"I know."

One could taste the bitterness in Zuko's voice. Thankful his nephew had chosen to deadpan, Iroh quickly followed as the boy walked away. Suddenly, Zuko stopped, turning back and approaching an ostrich horse, quickly undoing its tether.

"What are you doing?" Iroh hissed. "These people just showed you great kindness!"

"They're about to show us a little more kindness," was his reply, as Zuko mounted the beast and led it up beside Iroh.

Much as the old man didn't want to admit it, he knew he and Zuko needed to get as far away as they could as fast as possible. And though he knew most of the reason Zuko had done it was out of spite, for reminding his of his failures, Iroh was forced to chose silence, rather than insist that what his nephew was doing was wrong.

He'd never hated himself more for his silence than he did then as they trotted away astride the stolen beast, the darkness swallowing them up.

* * *

Uncle's begging strategy was humiliating and almost entirely ineffective. To the point where Zuko was embarrassed to be seen on the same street as the old man when he decided to start singing.

_We don't have time for this,_ Zuko thought irritably, attempting to hide under his hat out of shame as Uncle Iroh 'danced' to his loud, noxious rendition of _The Girls of Ba Sing Se_ while dodging a bystander's careless sweeps of his dao blades._ Azula's on our tails and we can't afford to waste this much time at every pitiful excuse for a town we come across for a few spare coppers!_

"Ha, ha!" The stranger guffawed. "Nothing like a fat man dancing for his dinner." Zuko bristled at the stranger, who tossed a single, gleaming gold coin into Uncle's outstretched hat. _How dare he! How dare he treat Uncle like that?! _He studiously ignored that little voice that reminded him how regularly he'd treated him as badly or worse.

The man was already walking away, but Zuko's narrowed glare followed the lanky figure till he vanished around a corner, disappearing from sight, but not from the traitor prince's mind.

* * *

The Blue Spirit leapt from rooftop to rooftop, feeling naked without the familiar weight of his dao blades strapped to his back.

He intended to fix that before the night was through.

It was all too easy to find his target, strolling nonchalantly through an alley lit solely by the moon's ethereal glow. Ignoring the sick churning of guilt in his belly, he let his foot press down on a loose board as he descended to the ground, the sudden creak alerting the other man to his presence. Ducking safely into the shadows, the Blue Spirit watched as he swept out his swords and whirled about, searching for the source of the sound.

"Who's there?"

As the man spun again, Zuko deftly caught his wrist, twisting his arm and quickly disarming his opponent, who crashed to the ground and looked up dazedly at the vigilante as the Blue Spirit twirled the blades expertly.

They weren't as nice as his old ones, but they were sturdy and with a bit of care would serve him well enough. He flipped onto the roof, soundlessly gliding into the night and steadily ignoring the now ever - present pit of guilt growing in his belly.

* * *

"What does it matter where it came from?"

Iroh's frown deepened as Zuko quickly strode away. The teen's sticky fingers had gotten out of hand: necessities were one thing, fancy teapots - while much appreciated - were another. Zuko needed to be straightened out, and quickly.

When Zuko returned, Iroh prodded him with tentative questions, and watched concernedly as the boy grew more defensive and evasive with every word. The old man let out a heavy sigh, relieved that Zuko's conscience seemed to be weighing heavily on him. _Perhaps there's hope yet. But first, I should put things more straightforwardly._

Zuko never had, and probably never would be able make heads nor tails of Iroh's sayings.

"To be honest with you," he began, setting down the pot and moving over beside his nephew, "the best tea tastes delicious whether it comes in a porcelain pot or a tin cup. I know we've had some difficult times lately. We've had to struggle just to get by." Iroh placed a hand on Zuko's shoulder, who closed his eyes, but didn't shrug him off, which Iroh took as a good sign. "But it's nothing to be ashamed of. There is a simple honor in poverty."

"There's no honor for me without the Avatar," was his low, monotone answer.

"Zuko . . . " Sighing heavily, Iroh opted for honesty. "Even if you did capture the Avatar, I'm not so sure it would solve our problems. Not now."

_He has to have seen that._

"Then there is no hope at all."

He was standing, as if to leave, and, panicked, remembering what Zuko had done the last time he'd given up hope, Iroh snatched at his shoulder. "No, Zuko! You must never give in to despair. Allow yourself to slip down that road and you surrender to your lowest instincts." The boy bowed his head, expression clearly stating that he too was recalling that day which Iroh was sure was as vivid in his memory as in his own. Iroh took a breath, continuing. "In the darkest times, hope is something you give yourself. That is the meaning of inner strength."

_Please,_ the old man begged internally, _Spirits, please just let him hear me. Just this once._

Zuko faced the old man for the first time throughout the conversation, and the hopeless, despairing look in his mismatched eyes broke his old uncle's heart. Abruptly, he turned and vanished into the forest, leaving Iroh to wonder just how much more tragedy the boy would be able to take before he broke. He'd already withstood more than any human being should ever have to. And the knowledge that he'd never deserved any of it left a pit of sorrow and guilt in his weathered old heart.

_Am I being selfish, asking him to keep going, keep suffering, knowing there will be no relief?_

Iroh had mourned the loss of one son who'd been taken too early; now he mourned the waste of one who'd fought too long.

* * *

_He's right. Spirits, why does he have to be right? What the hell is wrong with me? _

Zuko had known since before he could remember that it was dishonorable and wrong to steal. He _knew_ better. Mother had taught him better. _I've dishonored myself - _again - _and worse yet, I've dishonored her memory. _The sick sensation of guilt rose in his throat, and he had to momentarily halt his blind march through the foliage to take several deep breaths, lest he be overwhelmed by nausea.

_There is no hope at all._

He'd never make it home. He'd known that for awhile now, but suddenly it was as though it had just been set in stone, and _spirits_ it hurt.

_Why? Why do I have to keep fighting? I'm just . . . so _tired.

Of course, he knew the answer. Giving up would mean surrendering what little control he had, in a situation where almost all control had been taken from him. Everything had been taken from him. And Zuko couldn't give up, not just because it would mean Zhao and Azula and countless others had been right about him, not just because his mother had taught him to keep fighting even what it was hard, but because Zuko was absolutely terrified of the day that he would no longer have that measure, however infinitesimally small, of control. Of the day he wouldn't be able to keep going, keep fighting, any more.

And Uncle . . . Uncle had stuck with him, through all of his abuse and boneheaded determination and refusal to listen to any reason. Uncle, who'd dedicated his life to looking after his pitiful, undeserving nephew, after the loss of his own son. _I don't deserve him._

And he knew what he needed to do, though the thought made something in his chest shrivel up and die.

_I won't hurt him any more._

Zuko wandered sightlessly back to Iroh's hideaway, gut churning with nausea and self-loathing. It took far too short a walk, yet far, far too long, till he could see the cave, and Uncle Iroh bent over their supplies. Swallowing nervously, he tightened his jaw. _It's for the best. You owe it to him._

"Uncle . . ." _How can I do this? How can I, without hurting him any more?_ "I thought a lot about what you said."

"You did?" Iroh sounded relieved, cheered. "Good, good."

_Make it clean and fast. Just get it over with._

"It helped me realize something. We no longer have anything to gain by traveling together. I need to find my own way."

Some twisted up part of him hoped beyond belief the old man would disagree, would tell him no, would insist that they stay together. But the old man merely bowed his head, making that shriveled up thing in his chest give a last dying wail. Forcing himself to move his feet, Zuko hefted his own pack and turned. _Walk away. Don't look back. You're doing this for Uncle._

"Wait!"

Hope swelled in his breast, only to fade once more as Iroh passed him the reigns to the ostrich - horse he'd stolen. Feeling suddenly cold, Zuko mounted, taking one last look at the Dragon of the West's sad, old face, before galloping away as far and fast as he could.

Zuko could never remember feeling quite as lost as he did now, tearing through the foliage, heartsick and leaving behind the only person left who cared about him in the whole world. The only sense of right he had was that even if he hadn't made the correct choice, he'd tried to, for the rightest reason he'd ever had.

* * *

**Hi!**

**As always, long overdue, but hopefully enjoyable nonetheless. I would like to thank:**

**FanFictionKatie**

**PotterheadAna02**

**Zephyr169**

**RenaElaine**

**eylllw****e**

**and that one very kind Guest**

**For all the encouragement and support you guys gave me via reviews. You have no idea how much it helped me through the rough spots where inspiration was a short - stocked commodity. It means the world to me.**

**This chapter was named in honor of the comeback single of my all-time favorite band, breaking benjamin. If you're a rock kinda person, check it out! The song is called Failure, and it fits Zuko so well.**

**Also, for those interested, you can find a mini companion fic to this one on my profile, called Redemptive Moments: Missing scenes from WBItD.**

**Thanks so much!**

**~Evil  
**


	11. Chapter 11: Of Letting Go

Chapter 10: Of Letting Go

* * *

"Not a step closer!" Sela threw herself in front of Lee, as though the taint of Zuko's mere gaze would damage her child. Zuko fought to keep from flinching, glancing up at Lee, who peered out at him from behind his mother. Swallowing the sharp sting of her silent rebuttal, Zuko knelt, holding the reclaimed blade in one outstretched hand.

"It's yours. You should have it."

The boy's face twisted into a snarl. "No! I hate you!"

_I hate you._

Zuko stared up at Lee, betrayal and hurt swimming in his chest as the words sucked him into a memory, half forgotten and faded with age.

_"I hate you, Zuko!" _

_Azula snatched his stick away, snapping it in half and setting it alight, before flinging it across the garden, fury contorting her seven - year - old face. Hurt, Zuko scowled, leveling a nasty glare at her._

_"You're just jealous I'm better than you at something." Surprise lit her face, and, feeling bolstered, Zuko pushed forward. "What, are you afraid your friends will abandon you when they find out you're not the best at everything?"_

_Surprise twisted into rage. "You?" She spat, advancing. "Better? Ha! That's ridiculous. Just. Like. You." She stabbed him in the chest with an accusing finger. Zuko recoiled, lips parted in a half formed protest that went unheard as his sister continued her tirade. "You're nothing. You're just . . . just . . . Zuko. Pathetic and useless and whiny and worthless and stupid." __His eyes stung with unshed tears as she shoved him down, his back slamming against the ground. Something in his chest constricted, making it difficult to remember how to breathe._

_"That's not true!"_

_"Isn't it? Father knows. He sees what you really are." Her lips curved into a malevolent grin as she stepped closer, her voice lowering. "I know where you got those bruises."_

_He inhaled sharply, blood draining from his face as shame welled up in him. "You're lying. You don't know anything." __She smiled wider, a cold, predatory expression._

_"I know everything. Face it, Zuko. You're a sniveling crybaby who doesn't have the guts to stand up for himself. You're a coward and a disgrace and no one will ever like you."_

The rest of the memory was lost to his recollection, but the sting of her words had never left.

_"I hate you, Zuko!"_

_"I hate you!"_

His limbs moved of their own accord, standing and turning away from the mother and son he'd just saved. Sensing the danger he presented, the townspeople kept their distance, allowing him to pass unmolested, their sneers and hate filled glares only directed his way after he had passed out of immediate striking distance. As though he were a taint. As though he were a monster.

Three minutes ago, he'd been their champion. Their hero. Their savior.

_No one will ever like you. They see what you really are._

Fingers curling around the bridle, his ostrich horse snorted, stamping its foot at he swung himself into the saddle. Numb, Zuko rode through the path they'd reluctantly cleared for him, their threatening expressions all the warning he needed to know not to tarry here. The only feeling he registered at all was another pang of rejection that shuddered through his chest as he passed Sela and Lee, the boy scowling and pointedly refusing to look at him.

Something about the entire procession struck him as ominous, the eerie silence and careful distance they kept from him exactly mirroring the way the guards and palace staff had treated him as he was ushered from his hospital cot to his ship when he was banished three years ago. Something in their eyes, when they looked at him, that somehow marked him as and outcast.

The burning orange glow of the late afternoon sun filled Zuko's vision as the village slowly vanished behind him, and a dull lethargy settled over him, seeming to sink into his bones as his steed wandered onward at its own easygoing pace. He could find neither the energy, will, nor destination to direct it, or himself. Somewhere along the way, the rage he'd carried inside him, bubbling and boiling, had fermented into bitterness, poisonous bitterness that sapped any drive he still possessed.

_Do not give in to despair. Allow yourself to slip down that road and you surrender to your lowest instincts._

Zuko's frown deepened. _There's a difference between having feelings and acting on them. Acknowledging a state of mind isn't the same as allowing it to overrule your morals._

_No, it's not, _Iroh agreed. _But it is the first step in that direction._

It occurred to Zuko that perhaps he was going slightly mad. Or, slightly _more _mad. He'd never heard Iroh's voice before, only Azula's.

_When you need me, I'll be there._

How long had it been since Uncle had said that the first time? He couldn't recall. Too tired to argue further, Zuko scanned the undergrowth nearby, spotting a cave that was concealed well enough. He took shelter as the sun disappeared below the horizon, and, curling up in a fetal position, he couldn't remember having ever felt so cold.

* * *

The bright, clear light of dawn brought no resurgence of purpose or determination, but the massive tracks of some undoubtedly formidable machine cutting into the earth just a ways away from his nighttime shelter did. There was, after all, only one person the Fire Lord would allow to openly gallivant across unconquered territory in top-of-the-notch, new, experimental war machines. The favored child, Princess Azula. Zuko reeled.

_She tried to kill me._

And she'd gone straight past him. She would've known neither he nor Iroh had been capable of travelling much farther from the coast so quickly, and yet she hadn't even paused to scout out around this area. His sister was cleverer than that. Which could only mean one thing: she was already in hot pursuit of another target - one with high speed methods of travel, judging by Azula's response. Zuko's stomach dropped.

There was only one person who Azula would have deigned to notice, let alone make top priority, above the Fire Lord's own command. _And if she wouldn't hesitate to take me out, she certainly wouldn't bat an eye at killing the Avatar._

The visage of the monk's terrified, pleading face filled his mind, and Zuko sighed heavily, before dusting off his hands and remounting the ostrich horse. Giving the beast a firm spur, he clung tight to the reign as the creature tore off at a frantic gallop, following the trail Azula had cut into the ground.

_And she says I'm obvious._

* * *

"Do you really want to fight me?"

Zuko threw himself out of the saddle, landing in a crouch as the ostrich horse trotted out of harm's reach. Hopefully he'd be able to find the snippish thing again later. _Focus,_ he reminded himself. Straightening, he tossed his hat aside. "Yes, I really do."

"Zuko!" He'd been right. The Avatar stood to his right, clearly surprised.

_He shouldn't be, by now._

Azula smirked, a cold quirk of her ruby lips as she calmly observed him. "I was wondering when you'd show up, Zuzu."

Anger bubbled in his chest, and his eyes narrowed at his much hated nickname. The Avatar snorted. "_Zuzu?_"

_Oh, really?_ Swallowing his annoyance, he kept his eyes fixed on his sister, spreading his hands in a beginning stance, one for each opponent. _There's no telling whose side that airbending goody-two-shoes will take, if any_. "Back off, Azula! He's mine."

She responded in kind, curling her arms aggressively. "I'm not going anywhere."

Eyeing the two of them warily, Zuko forced himself to breathe normally. He didn't particularly want to fight the Avatar, but given his own previous track record, he wouldn't be surprised, nor could he really complain, if the monk decided he was still a threat. And fighting Azula, he couldn't afford to trust that the airbender wouldn't take a shot at him. Just one slip up, and Azula would fry him - well, both of them, really - to a crisp. While this would be the first 'fair' fight they'd had in three years - he'd been duped last time, it didn't count - Zuko wasn't stupid enough to hope he'd improved enough comparatively to make it out with anything less than a brutal beating. But that didn't mean he should panic and just give her the victory.

She'd never had to earn anything in her life, and just this once he was determined to change that.

His only warning was a slight widening of her grin, before she was slinging a blue blast at him.

* * *

Katara grinned, a sweep of her hand freeing Aang from the wooden beam that pinned him to the floor of the wrecked skeleton of a building. For a moment, she couldn't help but reflect on how utterly wrong is was to pin Aang down like that. He was the epitome of his element - like the wind, it shouldn't be possible to trap him. It was a violation of his very nature. The idea sickened her, imagining her friend and the savior of the world locked up under the earth, withering away and cut off from the freedom that was his element.

_It would be kinder to just steal the air from his lungs. And that's why I'll never let the Fire Nation take him._

"Katara!" the monk shouted enthusiastically. The girl, taking advantage of her distraction, whirled and whipped a blue blaze of flame at the waterbender. Katara gasped, flinging herself out of the door and running as fast as she could. Precise, fleet footsteps pounded behind her, until a familiar cry sounded, the clash of metal on armor identifying her rescuer as Sokka. Whirling, she flexed her arms, watching as Aang defended her brother. Gathering herself, Katara moved across from the boys, as Crazy-Blue-Fire-Girl ducked into the center of the street, facing off against the trio. Moving in sync, the three of them wordlessly began closing in around the firebender.

She targeted Aang first, swinging a ferocious, fiery punch at him, and Katara slammed her arm with a deluge of water, Aang leaping away with inhuman grace. She and Sokka were treated to blasts next, she and her brother each leaping to the side, until Crazy-Blue swept a blaze to their right, sending them both diving out of the way.

Aang jumped Crazy-Blue, distracting the firebender while the Water Tribe teens regained their feet, she and Sokka again attempting to help Aang corner the girl. Crazy-Blue responded by whipping a blast at all of them, buying her own recovery; she stood her ground as they closed in, when suddenly the girl's feet flew out from beneath her, revealing a grinning Toph behind the fallen firebender.

"I thought you guys could use a little help."

Relieved to see the petite earthbender safe and present, Katara relinquished the animosity she'd held against the girl since last night. She grinned in return, then remembered that Toph couldn't see her expression. "Thanks."

As the waterbender focused on their opponent once more, Crazy-Blue, seeming to realize the odds had tipped too far against her, made a break for it - only to run headlong into a stout and strangely familiar old man. Eyes narrowing at the newcomer, Katara momentarily froze in panic as she identified the lanky teen beside him.

_Zuko._

Though he was much altered from when she'd last seen him - his ridiculous ponytail replaced by short, scruffy dark locks and red armor by nondescript, ragged brown robes - there was no mistaking him, with his piercing gold irises and the enormous burn covering a good chunk of the left half of his face. Katara's mind whirled with unanswered questions, her body moving instinctively back into the fray, as the two new firebenders joined the line, effectively cornering Crazy-Blue against a half - destroyed wall.

_Where did they come from? Has he been here the whole time? Why is he helping us, instead of her?_

Another quick glance to the side revealed the Prince's attention zeroed in on their apparently mutual enemy. Katara's stomach dropped as she took note of how carefully he watched Crazy-Blue, twitching in response to her every slightest movement, and not sparing her - or, more tellingly, Aang - so much as a glance. She'd never seen him this on edge, not even while he was hunting their gang.

And if Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, who'd hunted and faced down the Avatar himself at least a dozen times, was afraid of this girl who bent blue flames, then Katara had a sinking feeling all of them should be downright terrified.

"Well, look at this. Enemies and traitors, all working together," Crazy-Blue sneered, taking another careful step away from the half circle of opponents she'd garnered.

_Traitors?_

In her peripheral vision, neither firebender so much as blinked at the accusation. Surprised, her brow creased. She'd have expected vehement, loud, immediate denial at such a charge, and probably some stomping and smoke from Zuko's ears, at the very least. The lack of reaction was unnerving. _Is it true, or does he think she'll fry him if he so much as twitches?_ Either way, this certainly wasn't the first time he'd heard the accusation.

Unperturbed, Crazy-Blue lifted her hands coolly. "I'm done. I know when I'm beaten. You got me. A princess surrenders with honor."

_Princess? But that means . . . she's . . ._

The waterbender never finished the thought, because without warning, Crazy-Blue jerked into motion, a blue blaze whipping from her fingertips and slamming into the old man. With a great cry of pain, he was slammed to the ground. He didn't rise. For a long, stunned moment, all she could hear was Zuko's strangled, horrified cry: and the sound, combined with the stench of charred flesh, called to life memories of her own disembodied screams, and brilliant red splashing against the white, white snow.

Blistering hatred erupted in her chest, and Katara whirled, slinging everything she had at the perpetrator like she wished she'd done six years ago.

The resulting explosion knocked her back a step, and when the smoke cleared the girl was gone, and Zuko was on his knees beside the old man, clutching his head in desperation. The distraught cry that tore its way from his lips a moment later was all it took to convince her to step forward, one hand already uncorking her waterskin.

"Get away from us," Zuko snapped, glancing over his shoulder.

"Zuko, I can help-"

"_Leave!" _he shouted, cutting her off and punctuating his demand with a burst of flame that sent the others scurrying away in acquiescence. Katara took a step back, relaxing slightly when the flames dissipated almost instantly: more for show than an actual attempt to drive her away.

"Katara, come _on_!" Sokka hollered from the edge of the now smoldering town.

"Just a minute!"

"_I said leave."_ Quiet, almost a whisper.

"I know, and if that's what you really want, then I will," she began gently. "But for his sake, if not yours, hear me out first."

He made no reply, his back still turned, and after a moment's debate, she took it as permission to continue. "I learned healing from the waterbenders while I was at the North Pole.

_That got his attention._ Zuko stiffened, finally half turning to stare disbelievingly up at her.

"Why?"

Jaw twitching with annoyance, she forced herself not to roll her eyes. _"_Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time." His glare darkened with irritation.

"Why would you use it to help me?"

_Oh. _Katara blinked, suddenly realizing that she _d__idn't _really have a very good reason. "Well, I, uh . . . "

Zuko's lip twisted disdainfully, eyes narrowing. "Right. You're just trying to help. Not exacting revenge for all the times I've wronged you by taking the one person I have left away from me. Not looking for a way to get me to let my guard down so you can make sure I'll never be a problem for your precious Avatar ever again."

Her jaw dropped, fuming. "I would _never!_"

"Then tell me why."

"Why does there have to be a reason?"

"Why?"

"Ugh!" Katara stomped her foot, fists clenching. "You're impossible."

_"Why?"_

"_Because!_" she shouted, shoulders shaking. "I will _never_ turn my back on people who need me! I don't know why it's such a ridiculous concept to you, but some of us actually care about other people!"

Panting angrily, she glared defiantly at the firebender, waiting for his own angry rebuffal, but to her surprise, he considered her words, expression slowly morphing into something she couldn't quite name. Confusion? Pity? Shame?

After several long moments, he wordlessly scooted to the old man's other side, watching her expectantly, if still warily. Swallowing her surprise - she hadn't really thought he'd listen to her - Katara knelt, uncapping her waterskin with one hand while reaching out to peel the singed edges of cloth away from the burn, when pale fingers closed around her wrist. Sharp golden eyes bore into hers, and she swallowed nervously. This was not the boy who'd returned her necklace and never actually burned anyone, no matter how awful he might like to make himself seem. This Zuko meant business.

"If you try to hurt him," he breathed, unblinking, "it'll be the last mistake you ever make."

Katara nodded, eyes wide and heart racing, as the prince, seemingly satisfied, gently released her arm.

This Zuko was _terrifying_. She didn't doubt for a second he'd make good on his promise if she hurt the old man.

_Prince, Princess._

Taking a shaky, unnerved breath, Katara formed the glove of liquid on her hand, delicately moving the singed scraps out the tunic out of the way, before summoning the ethereal blue glow to the water and pressing it lightly against the swollen, broken skin.

A flood of information from her outstretched hand began to solidify in her head, giving her a clearer picture of what exactly she was dealing with. And the deeper she delved, the more she recoiled in horror. Somehow, Zuko _knew_ that girl. Knew her very well, from how he'd reacted to her. And the old man was _always_ nearby, wherever Zuko went.

S_he was aiming to kill._

Not even, maybe, because she wanted the old man dead. Because whoever she was, that _princess_ had known it would devastate Zuko.

A cold chill ran down her spine. Zuko had never been trying to kill them. Katara was fairly sure the prince needed Aang alive . . . for something. Probably so the Avatar wouldn't be reborn, but still. _Alive. _And he had never tried to strike her or Sokka down to cripple Aang's escape.

This new opponent, it seemed, had no such qualms.

_But why didn't he? It would have made things a lot easier for him. He wouldn't be here now, alone and half starved. If _he's _the one who has none of this so-called honor he keeps monologuing about, why is he the one playing fair and her the one cheating?_

Questions whirling inside her head, she began to work in earnest, repairing the deeper layers of muscle first. Those were the most important, and would take the longest to heal. Since Zuko obviously wasn't going to tolerate her trying to stick around for a second session, she had to do the big stuff as fast as possible. She worked soundlessly, brow occasionally furrowing with concentration as the strange feeling of flesh knitting itself back together unnaturally quickly consumed her attention, too deeply immersed in her task to completely recall the firebender on his knees across from her.

Finally satisfied that was all she could safely do now, she moved from the deeper layers of damage to the surface of the wound, refocusing her efforts on closing the skin. Hopefully if she could at least scab it over he wouldn't have to worry about dirt or infection. It was a much simpler task, and she glanced uncertainly up at Zuko, who watched with intent . . . interest. There was no denying the curiosity in his bright irises.

"Who was she?" she found herself wondering. Realizing she'd spoken her thoughts aloud, she wished she could slap herself. Risking a glance at the prince, she was unsurprised to find his expression darkening with hatred.

"Azula," he spat, looking ready to kill.

_If it were Gran-Gran, I would be too._

Zuko glared at the smoldering buildings around them. Though she had quite a few more questions - _who is Azula, how do you know her, is she really a princess, what happened to you? - _she didn't want to risk the firebender's temper.

_And asking someone if they're a traitor is a really good way to avoid getting fried._

A few more agonizingly long moments passed, before Katara lifted her hand, stowing away her water and inspecting the angry red wound. "I think that's the best I can do, for now," she murmured. Good eye narrowed wih interest, Zuko leaned forward, and Katara watched, surprised, as his expression morphed into . . . _awe,_ as he stared in shoked silence at the amount of damage she'd managed to reverse. While still a bright, irritated red, whole flesh stretched across the old man's shoulder, nearly all of the swelling gone. It would still be painful, but he'd survive easily, and with some care it wouldn't scar.

Seemingly unconsciously, his left hand slowly drifted towards the damaged side of his face, his expression one of pain, and almost . . . longing.

It suddenly struck her for the first time, how serious a wound it must have been. How much agony he'd had to endure, over weeks and months, as it slowly scarred over.

That poorly submerged memory bubbled up again, the stench of charred flesh and _so much red_ -

Before she realized it, she'd scrambled backwards, choking back the bile that rose in her throat. Shaken from his stupor, Zuko eyed her strangely.

_Well, gee Katara, I wonder why that would be_. Mentally berating herself, she struggled to find her voice again. "I, uh . . . they . . . it's getting dark!" she stammered, awkward. His only response was a brow quirked with disbelief, before he stood.

_He's so thin._

Zuko's ragged clothing did nothing to disguise his emaciated figure, hanging off his bony frame like rags draped over a scarecrow. Absently, she wondered whether he'd always been so skeletal beneath his armor, or if he'd lost weight after having acquired his apparent refugee status.

_How long has it been since the siege?_

She already could hardly believe it was possible for someone's appearance to change so drastically in only a month or two. Borderline starved-thin, scruffy dark hair, and filthy rags, only his pale skin, gold eyes, and the scar remained the same. And her gut told her it would have taken a lot longer for him to lose this much weight if he'd been healthy when she saw him last.

Katara shook herself slightly. The other teen was still standing there, watching her with an unreadable expression. _Great. He probably thinks you're crazy._

Clearing her throat, she shuffled her feet uncertainly. "When he wakes up, don't let him exert himself much. You'll want to give it enough time to be sure the damage deeper down has healed properly."

He nodded.

"I guess I'll just go, then."

Eyeing her for another long moment, the firebender finally gave her another clipped nod. Shrugging inwardly, she turned and began walking after the others.

"Thank you."

She almost didn't hear him, and she froze, turning, before hesitantly nodding in return.

_That's what you get for assuming things about people you don't know. They all have layers; there's not one who's just what they appear on the outside._

As she found her way back to Appa, Katara found herself wondering what sort of person Zuko was beneath all those layers of anger and obsession.

* * *

He watched her retreat for several minutes after her slim figure vanished behind the tree line some hundred yards from the outer edge of the burning town. Shaking himself - _what kind of idiot just stands and stares after a girl as all the buildings literally burn down around him?_ \- he took a deep breath, picked one of the less destroyed buildings, and closed his eyes, focusing on his chi as he drew the energy from the flames.

When he opened them again, the blaze in the house before him had died completely.

Moving on to the next one, his mind drifted, the extra energy his body was sucking in feeding his already wild thoughts.

_That girl is crazy. One minute, she's trying to bury me alive beneath a mountain of ice, and the next she's going out of her way to assist an old man she doesn't know, and a temperamental firebender she certainly despises._

Another blaze snuffed out.

_"I will never turn my back on people who need me!"_

What motive could she have had? Unless she was digging for information on Azula. That made sense, except all she'd asked for was a name. _Maybe that was all she needed. Now she can ask someone else. No use risking my explosive temper over information she can acquire fireball-free from someone she actually likes. Someone less volatile. Less Fire Nation._

Yet something deep in his gut whispered she hadn't been after anything.

_Nobody is that selfless. Nobody I've ever met, anyway. First time for everything, right? If there was anyone, it would be her. She's young, naive, and she travels with the Avatar. She can afford to be ridiculous._

He wondered whether she really meant it, though. Sure, she'd never turn her back on her allies, and it wouldn't surprise him if she thought every pocket of Earth Kingdom resistance was an ally. But . . . anyone? Even the Fire Nation? She'd helped Uncle, sure, but Uncle had been helping them stop Azula. Favors owed, favors paid.

_Why not? You did._

Plains Village flashed in his mind, Lee's eyes full of anger and hatred.

Zuko's hands shook, and his control over the fire flickered.

He hoped she wouldn't find herself anywhere near a Fire Nation encampment in need of assistance anytime soon.

Grim, he sucked away the last of the flames, before stopping to consider their situation. It wasn't safe to stay here; Azula might make another pass through the area once she regrouped with the rest of her task force, and there was more than a decent chance that some Earth Kingdom troops were close enough to have seen the billowing smoke and come investigate. The safest place to be, at the moment, was far away from here. But Uncle was really in no shape to travel, and several structures still seemed intact enough to provide some real shelter.

Zuko sighed. There really wasn't another option. Giving a sharp whistle, he hefted Uncle's limp body and began moving him inside one of the less damaged buildings towards the center of the town. Hopefully the ostrich-horse was still within hearing range. If it had wandered too far away, his life was about to become even more difficult. He'd left what little supplies in the saddlebags, and Uncle having to walk the whole way would delay their evacuation even longer.

Heavy footsteps, a jingling harness, and a sharp nip on the ear allayed his worries. Breathing out with relief, he caught the bridle with one hand, guiding the ostrich-horse inside with him, and pulled the blankets from the saddle. Spreading them out and laying Uncle on them, he unsaddled the bird, letting it nip at his hair in gratitude.

So he'd grown fond of his pet. Big deal.

A quick survey of the town found a well that still had a fair amount of water in it, lots of abandoned furniture, and nothing else. Whoever had lived in this crumbling shell of a community had taken everything they could possibly have carried with them when they left. Though, oddly enough, there were no signs of invasion or siege. Perhaps the inhabitants had decided to evacuate while they still had time to breathe, rather risk becoming yet another occupied village with Fire Nation soldiers breathing down their necks every moment of every day.

Zuko refilled his flask, and filled an empty water trough for the ostrich horse, feeling strangely dejected by the image. Since before he could remember, he'd always been taught that the Fire Nation was fighting to make the world a better place.

So when had he realized that if that was ever truly the motive behind the last hundred years of endless bloodshed, they'd been failing dismally, with skirmish won and territory conquered?

* * *

**Hey . . .**

**Once again, this is obnoxiously long overdue. But coming down with bronchitis is a great way to bore you into working on stuff . . . if only it weren't so painfully miserable. The good news is, we're finally getting close to a big batch of stuff that's already been written that I can just plug into. So, yay! This chapter is dedicated to breaking benjamin, for being amazing and giving me the most awesome soundtrack for this fic. If you're a fan of rock, check out their new album _Dark Before Dawn_. It's awesome and so perfect. XD **

***end shameless fangirl rant***


	12. Chapter 12: The Turning of the Tide

Chapter 12: The Turning of the Tide

_"The sun begins to rise, and wash away the sky"_

* * *

_Hysterical laughter sounded behind him as he strode through long, willowy blades of grass, followed by a high, childish battle cry. Crying out in imaginary pain, Iroh collapsed on the ground, moments before the owner of the voice flopped down on top of him, breathless with giggles._

_ "I got you, Daddy!"_

_ Wrapping an arm around the child, he chuckled. They lay contentedly beneath the tree's branches, until suddenly the sky darkened and the leaves withered, and the boy he clutched to his chest eroded, withering into dust and blowing away like ash on the wind._

_ Sitting up, grief a heavy weight on his shoulders, he turned to find that lonely stone marker nestled among the roots of the tree, the letters of his only child's name burnt into it's smooth, unyielding surface. Iroh bowed his head, a lone tear trickling down his wrinkled cheek._

_ "My beloved Lu Ten. I will see you again someday."_

* * *

The ceiling slowly came into focus, and a moment later, so did one scarred, frowning face.

_ Zuko._

Iroh bit back a pang of disappointment, for a moment suddenly angry at being denied the sight of the person he truly wished to see. He swallowed it, guilt growing in his chest. Zuko didn't deserve that, it wasn't his fault, he couldn't help that he was _here_ . . . and Lu Ten wasn't. Still . . .

"Uncle. You were unconscious. Azula did this to you. It was a surprise attack."

. . . he was always so . . . _detached_. He would sulk or rage, but the boy just _could not_ empathize with other people. Iroh knew he cared, he really did . . . but was it so much to ask that he showed it once in awhile?

He stifled a sigh. "Somehow, that's not so surprising." A groan escaped him as he sat up, grimacing in pain. _Bandages. He did this by himself?_

And then the boy thrust a cup at him. "I hope I made it the way you like it."

There was a defensive tone to his voice, and his lone brow was set stubbornly, but something in Zuko's eyes, something in the way he squeezed his hands together in his lap as soon as Iroh took the cup, the way he seemed to shake with barely controlled nervous energy . . .

Unbidden, he remembered countless occasions where his nephew had unleashed curses and fury and derision at his doddering old uncle's stupid obsession with 'hot leaf juice', and while once in a blue moon he'd given in to his uncle's pestering and tried a cup, never once, in all his sixteen years, had the boy _ever_ attempted to make some for him. Or at all, for that matter.

_He does care,_ Iroh realized slowly, suddenly sad. _He's trying to be strong. And he's trying to show me he cares. And he doesn't know how to do both._

_He can't touch the world around him. He can mourn it, scream at it, long for it, hate it, reach for it . . . but he can't ever quite _touch_ it._

But he was still trying. Trying for his annoying old uncle who'd failed him over and over and over again.

Iroh stared at the dark liquid in his hand again, silently cursing his brother for damning Zuko to this miserable existence and simultaneously feeling as though he clutched a treasure he could never deserve.

Then he took a sip.

No, Zuko was _definitely_ not a natural in the art of tea-making.

He coughed, trying to mask his gagging and desperately trying to remember that _Zuko did this for him_ and_ not_ _as a prank, either,_ and _the boy is trying._

"Good-" _cough _"-that was very, uh . . . _bracing_."

Instantly regretting the compliment - such as it was - as he was handed another cup, Iroh discretely tossed the liquid out the window while Zuko's back was turned.

"So. Uncle." Sensing the weight of Zuko's tone, he watches his nephew carefully. "I've been thinking. It's only a matter of time before I run into Azula again. I'm going to need to know more advanced firebending if I want to stand a chance against her."

Iroh bit back a sigh, silently acknowledging his nephew's words.

"I know what you're going to say; she's my sister and I should be trying to get along with her-"

"No, she's crazy, and she needs to go down," Iroh interjected. _How can he still think . . . she's trying to kill him!_

The boy's brow furrowed, but after a moment he nods, and Iroh breathes a sigh of relief. _After all this time . . . he's still trying to belong to that family. _Grunting with the strain, he stands, pushing the pity out of his mind. "It's time to resume your training."

* * *

Zuko's heart sank with every word.

"Only a select few firebenders can separate these energies. This creates an imbalance. The energy wants to restore balance, and in a moment the positive and negative energy come crashing back together, you provide release and guidance, creating lightning."

_Only a select few._

That sentence alone told him he wouldn't succeed.

Azula was one of a _select few._ His father was one of a _select few._ His uncle was one of a _select few._

Zuko had never belonged in the same class as the rest of his family.

Even as white hot energy blasted from Uncle's fingertips, even as he claims he is ready, even as Uncle murmurs advice and tells him to breathe - _why does he always tell him to breathe? He knows! He's not a child! -_ he knows he will not create lightning.

So in his heart, he isn't surprised when he's blasted onto his back, into the dirt where he feels he belongs.

Uncle shakes his head.

_Failure._

So he gets up and tries again.

And again.

And again.

Until his clothes are blackened and singed and the ground is charred beyond recognition and _Uncle says nothing_ but his nothing is everything and Zuko knows what that means, and he's listened to the silence his whole life and he _hates_ it like he's never hated anything, and he finds himself screaming his frustration because anything is better than what the quiet whispers.

"_Why can't I do it?"_

Nothing.

"Instead of lightning, it keeps exploding in my face - _like everything always does_."

He hates the way his voice breaks.

And finally, Iroh stands.

"I was afraid this might happen."

_You knew. You knew and I knew and you made me do it anyway. Why? So you could watch me fail again? _

"You will not be able to master lightning until you have dealt with the turmoil inside you."

_"What turmoil?"_

Now Uncle is frustrated - he's not getting it again and the disappointment is clear. "Zuko, you must let go of your feelings of shame if you want your anger to go away."

"I would be dead without those feelings."

And for once, Uncle has nothing to say, because Zuko has shocked all the words out of him.

Zuko goes inside.

His heart feels like this house - all the walls are crumbling down and exposing the decay inside him. Every word he said was true. If it wasn't for the shame that boils in his chest - he would have stepped off that cliff three years ago.

Every word is true - and they expose all his lies.

* * *

"All this four elements talk is sounding like Avatar stuff."

Iroh cringed slightly, but Zuko remained cross-legged on the ground, blinking up at him. A pupil, waiting for the teacher to explain the concept behind the theory.

Two months ago, he'd have walked away.

Perhaps that was an underestimation of the prince, but Zuko's temper was certainly bad enough to raise the odds. Though lately he'd kept a firmer lid on his rage - the cause of which, Iroh could only guess at. Still, best to tread carefully. Zuko hadn't argued when Iroh had told him to come continue his training this morning; he'd simply looked at him with eyes far too dim and weary for anyone so young, and stepped outside.

_I would be dead._

Zuko was a terrible liar. He'd looked his old uncle dead in the eye and spat out the truth like the bloodied knife it was.

_Dead._

Iroh reeled inwardly.

_How does shame keep a person alive?_

How does honor drive a man to die?

_When you answer a question with a question_, Iroh thought soberly, _more often than not you will come to no conclusion at all._

"It is the combination of the four elements in one person that makes the Avatar so powerful. But, it can make you more powerful too." He prodded Zuko's chest lightly with his stick. "You see, the technique I am about to teach you is one I learned by studying waterbenders."

_There._

Intrigue furrowed his nephew's brow, and a subtle cock of his head told Iroh he'd succeeded. He cheered inwardly. Pique Zuko's interest, and he'd listen to anything, no matter how far-fetched.

He remembered a time when his brother's son had looked at the whole world with that same exuberant curiosity that he was trying to mask now; had explored with wide, innocent eyes and brushed everything with searching fingers and asked _why_. Sometimes he forgets about that boy; only to realize at moments like these that somewhere deep inside he is still alive, buried and scarred and crippled, but still burning in the fire behind Zuko's eyes.

Iroh forgets him, but he grieves him as well.

_There was never a greater tragedy than what could have been._

* * *

**So . . . today is the one year anniversary of this fic . . . so to celebrate here is this piece of chapter I've been struggling with forever. Love you all, and thank every one of you for reading.**

**~Evil**


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